


Gone, Gone, Gone

by Mememachine129



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, Depression, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper Lives, M/M, Multi, Poly V, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Robin is Will’s gay guru, Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Step-Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Trauma, Traumatized Mike Wheeler, Will and Mike are crushing, el and will are NOT together, mike and el are together, please god Mike just share your feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mememachine129/pseuds/Mememachine129
Summary: They were messed up. Majorly messed up. Most of the time they dealt with their messed up-ness with a smile and a hug. Suppression and ignorance all the way, right? But sometimes, sometimes that’s not enough.)orIn the aftermath of years of trauma, Mike, Will, and El are coping. Not very well, but they are trying! All they need is a push in the right direction, and, luckily, they’re a bunch of terrible liars surrounded by great gift givers. Thus;Will Byers has a night light.El Hopper has stuffed animals.And Mike Wheeler has, weirdly, a watch.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield (implied), Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Will Byers/Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88





	1. Gone: William Byers

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I’ve been working on this thing since December of 2018. It’s become way more than a fic about Will being depressed, and I can’t say I’m angry about it. 
> 
> So it says Will/El/Mike, but it’s really Will/Mike and El/Mike. El and Will are strictly platonic. Also my lovely Beta reader Ky somehow encouraged me to make more scenes with Max and now there’s El/Max...

Will Byers is 15 years old and he sleeps with a nightlight. 

Which is stupid. He knows it’s stupid. A little light isn’t going to stop a lily-mouthed Demogorgon, an evil shadow monster or a flesh-covered Mind Flayer from coming into his room while he slept. 

(Nothing can stop them, not a gun, not running away, and certainly not asking nicely)

But that doesn’t stop the hope that, maybe, if one slips through the cracks of the two worlds and comes for him when he least expects it, the light will help. Because the light tells him where the creature isn’t, where he can hide. 

Will’s very good at hiding. Especially in the dark

Or, he likes to think so. 

Will remembers being 12, running through a forest coated in a thick layer of slime. He remembers running, _sprinting_ over branches and rocks and hearing the roar of the monster and the beating of his own heart and the tears running down his face and the, _and the, and the-_

(Deep breath. Seven in, hold four, eight out. Just like Owens said)

 _and the_ monster. The monster he will never, ever forget. Even when he’s old and his mind and memories are slipping down the drain, the demogorgon will still be in his nightmares.

(It’s weird to call it the demogorgon now, since he was so used to calling it _‘the monster’_ during his seven days—well, nights: there’s no daytime there—he spent in hell)

The darkness is, by far, the most vivid. The only town he’s ever known, the trees that normally brought comfort, the friends he desperately wanted back, _gone_. What’s left of the stores and neighborhoods—that he’s known since he could form memories—only composed of darkness, slime, and the cries of monsters. Nothing of the place he thought he knew. 

Nothing but fear.

It’s a cool night light, at least. 

A figurine, Luke Skywalker to be specific. Luke, standing on a little platform, his lightsaber illuminating his form—as well as the room—in green light. Luke is in his fighting stance, the one Will used to copy when he felt his lowest. Luke used that stance when he fought Vader—his own father! (Even though he didn’t know it yet)—and Jabba the Hutt, who threatened both Luke’s friends and family. Luke is a fighter, and a good one at that, but he’s also super smart and dorky _and_ good with robots. Will thinks that if anyone could kill the demogorgon, it would be Luke. Even though Luke isn’t _really_ able to move around and fight, Will likes to imagine that, when something attacks, Will could take the same stance and _survive_. Just like Luke. 

He also likes it because Mike is the one who got it for him. 

Will is sure that if _Troy_ got a Luke Skywalker nightlight for his fourteenth birthday, he would probably burn something down. And if _James_ was the one who got it for him, he would probably trap James in whatever building he chose to destroy and watch him burn while drinking a cold glass of water. Or maybe a glass of boiling water, since he’s probably a ‘hell spawn’ like Lucas says he is. 

Thankfully, Will isn’t Troy, and Mike _certainly_ isn’t James. They were as far from the two bullies as possible. 

(Mike is smart. Even though his grades have been a bit static every since all the chaos started, he’s still quicker than Will at anything that isn’t sports related. Mike is _amazing_ , even if he’s a bit of a dumbass. _)_

(Not that Will will _ever_ admit that he thinks that _._ )

(Unless Mike needs to hear it, of course. _)_

The cheap pastel bag—that Mike had clearly gotten from his mom’s cabinet of old birthday bags—had been revealed three nights before Will’s fourteenth birthday.

Will hadn’t exactly been surprised by his friends choice of revealing it to him early, but he had been confused by Mike’s embarrassment. 

( _“What’s that?”_

Mike glances up like he’s been caught doing something wrong, and Will can’t help the smile that grows on his lips. 

_“It’s, well, you know, your birthday present.”_

Mike raises his eyebrows like he’s expecting something, his eyes darting back and forth between Will’s own. Will looks at his friend, slightly incredulous, slightly fond, and mostly something he’s not brave enough to name.

 _“You do realize you’re about three days too early, right?”_ Will asks, his eyebrows raised far into his hair and his smile stretching his cheeks.

Mike does that _thing_ , where he scoffs and rolls his eyes at nearly the same time, and for a second Will forgets that he’s the one it’s aimed at. All he can think about is how pretty Mike’s eyes are, how his nose scrunches up in the cutest way, and how his skin catches the light just so. He looks like an angel. A sarcastic, loyal, unbelievably goofy angel. 

“ _Yeah, I know, dude. I’m not stupid. It’s just, well,_ ” Mike has that familiar lost look in his eyes again, the one he wears when he’s trying to explain some pop culture phrase to El that he doesn’t know the full meaning of, and Will isn’t quite sure why, _“I didn’t want you to be embarrassed in front of everyone else. Not that you_ would _be. Or that this present is embarrassing. Or childish. Because, uh, those age ranges on the side of packaging are all complete bullshit anyway. Max told me the other day that—“_

Mike doesn’t need to awkwardly explain that he didn’t want to give it to him in front of everyone as not to embarrass his friend, going off about the politics of toys in the process, as Will understood. But he does anyway in the charming way only Michael Wheeler can do. 

Will finds himself staring at his friend, his eyes dancing from eyes to cheeks to nose to _lips_. Will’s eyes snap down to the package resting in between the two on the floor, pointedly looking away from where he desperately wants to gaze at. He takes it out carefully, putting Mike—for once—to the back of his brain, so he can get a good look at what Mike deemed something too intimate for the rest of the group to see. 

The first thing he spots is a gray _STAR WARS_ at the top of the box, surrounded by a galaxy and a much smaller logo for toy brand. The packaging is excessive for the object inside, Will can already tell. He fully lifts it out of the bag, finally reading the giant _EXCLUSIVE STAR WARS NIGHT LIGHT_. 

Will pushes down the rising panic before it can cut off his breath. This is Mike. It’s just Mike. 

He’s faintly aware of Mike’s rabbles finally tapering off as Will studies the figurine. 

Luke’s hair is in his face, his robes are white, and his lightsaber is green. It’s such a mixed bag of _New Hope_ Luke and _The Return of the Jedi_ Luke that Will is completely sure that whoever made it has never seen a single _Star Wars_ movie before. 

He can feel Mike slowly leaning closer to him, trying to pretend that he’s looking at the figurine, while glancing up at Will every few seconds. Will has grown too familiar with his friends eyes not to notice them. Will knows his best friend almost better than himself, and had figured out two things rather quickly: first, he bought this figurine at least a month ago, and has taken it in and out of the present wrapping several times—leading to it now being in a bag—because he wasn’t sure if Will would like it, so he knows it very well, and last, he knows in his heart that Will loves it, but is too anxious not to triple check. 

Will finally turns his head toward Mike, intending to tease him until finally telling him he loves it, but—

Mike’s brown eyes could kill someone, Will swears. Mike’s leaning down, his lanky body looking like an action doll with how awkward his neck looks. But. The neck is sticking out just enough and. His eyes. Are right. There. 

Mike’s eyes widen as the silence drags on. _“Well, I, uh, I can run home and check the trash for the receipt if you really—_ “

Suddenly they’re on the floor, Will on top of Mike, and Will is hugging him so vehemently his arms are straining. Will can feel Mike tense as they hit the ground, and the seconds after are filled with anxiety so fierce that Will feels like his head may combust with shame. Will goes to pull away, an apology stuck on his lips, when Mike’s arms wrap around him. 

Will goes slack with relief. 

He can feel Mike’s cheek pinching into a smile against his hair and he wonders, fleetingly, what he would do without his friend. Mike is always there, ready to help and support him, and Will has done his best to do the same. He doesn’t think fighting monsters, corrupt government workers, and _Russian Spies_ were what the two had expected to protect each other from, but that didn’t stop them from trying their best. 

They’re always one step ahead of the other, but they’re never on the same track. It’s what makes them work so well: they can’t see the entire picture on their own, but together they can see all the pieces they need. 

Will swears that Mike knows him better than he does, sometimes _.)_

He doesn’t want to remember the times before. Before the labs and the disappearance and the monsters. Whenever a memory pops up he pushes it far, far away, because looking back always ends with remembering the present. Comparing the two. Memories of a time when Will Byers was different. 

Those memories are filled with D&D, giggles, and a time when the scariest thing was everyone finding out that the jokes Troy and James would make— _fairy, gay boy, fag_ —weren’t completely inaccurate.

(Mike’s laugh, Mike’s hair, Mike’s hugs, Mike’s eyes, Mike’s mouth _)_

Memories of when Mike and him were _it_ for each other. The best of friends, never going to leave, always sticking together. A time before Mike had El, Lucas had Max, and Dustin had Suzie. When Nancy was just Mike’s older sister. When Jonathan was his loner older brother. When Steve was just some jock that Nancy made out with, and Robin was just a girl in high school he wouldn’t have ever met. A time when he didn’t even know Hoppers’ first name. 

If he dives deep, coming out is _surreal_ , to say the least. He will come back to Mike tapping on his shoulder at the lunch table, asking if he’s okay while Dustin desperately tries to drown out Lucas and Maxs’ teasing. To Steve telling him a joke. To Jonathan hugging him goodbye before a date with Nancy. To Hopper coming by every other week to see his mom. To Robin telling him that the movie store has movies that aren’t just things his friends tell him to watch. 

Yet, if given the choice, Will isn’t sure he wants to change anything about the past. Not if it means losing the people he loves the most. The people he refuses to lose. 

After Mike gets him the night light, his nights get better. Unsurprisingly, waking up from a nightmare with a light on is better than complete darkness. The number of nightmares slowly dwindle, until it’s gone from twice a night in vivid detail to once a week with vague, blurry shadows. Which is nice: the bags under his eyes start to fade, classes get a bit easier, Steve and Robin’s lame jokes get a bit less funny. 

Will can admit to himself that he starts to depend on the thing a bit. 

Okay, maybe a lot. 

After bad nights, he takes it to school with him. Which he _knows_ is weird,—he’s fifteen, not _three_ —yet he still brings it. Pushes it deep, deep down into his backpack until someone would have to go past two binders, three notebooks, half a dozen already graded assignments, and his 30lb math textbook to find it. It’s excessive, he knows, but he can’t take the chance of it slipping out one day in class, of everyone seeing how _weak_ he is. They already have enough fuel for their cruelty, adding this would be lighting a match in a gasoline drenched forest. 

But, even buried under all his crap, _he_ can always find it. Can feel around the bottom and squeeze the life out of the vague lump he finds. He keeps his backpack close enough to touch at all times, so he can lean his leg or foot against it in class and let the edge of the sharp back prongs hit him. 

As well as being an incredibly calming and extremely sentimental object, it’s the only thing Will has that can calm him down from a panic attack. 

The party is usually able to help him, either by walking him through breathing exercises or just getting Mike, who tends to help him more efficiently. It pays to know someone so well: Mike has stopped him from clawing at his arms or hair so many times that he will grab Will’s wrists before he even tries. It’s impressive.

(Max, surprisingly, becomes Mike’s second when it comes to his attacks. She hasn’t known him for more than a decade like Mike, but she, apparently, has a lot of experience with panic attacks. She picks up the signs so fast that she nearly beats Mike, and she knows just what to say to work him through it. It’s made them closer, and, much to Will’s joy, it’s made Mike warm up to Max more)

As much as Will loves them, though, he hates depending on them like this. Hates that he needs someone to talk him through breathing. To tell him that he’s okay. He’s safe. 

He _should_ just be able to take a deep breath and move on. _He should_ . But he _fucking_ can’t. 

That might be why he loves the nightlight so much. Because he has control over who helps him. Who knows about the panic. About his weakness. That, in some weird way, he’s found a way to help himself. 

He can admit to himself that he has a slightly unhealthy attachment to a small, plastic, inaccurate figurine of a blond guy twice his age wearing a toga and holding a green stick. He can, and he’s proud of that. 

Admitting it to others, though, is harder. 

(Will wakes up sweaty, his breath short and a scream stuck in his throat. He's sticky enough to immediately want to jump up and leap into the shower, but he stays. Stuck. He sits in his bed for who knows how long before checking the digital clock‘s shining red lines. The morning light peeks through his curtains, casting a glare onto the black glass. Will squints, his breathing not completely level, and his eyes having more trouble than usual focusing. 

**5:33**. He has more time, yet he can’t imagine going back to sleep. 

In between deep breaths and quick glances, small memories and dark shadows cross his unconscious. He remembers snow, then fire, or maybe it was cold then hot. He remembers a house, some vines. Snails without shells and inside out slugs. Things that might be memories. Things he hopes aren’t. 

In no time at all his alarm is going off, and suddenly there’s new clothes on his back and a waffle on his plate. His mother is kissing his cheek, ‘I love you’s are shared, and she's gone. 

Will grabs **it** , unthinkingly, right before he leaves. Stuffs it into his bag and follows Jonathan’s voice out to his car. He clutches the lump all the way to school, presses his backpack against his leg during class, and draws tiny lightsabers and fight scenes on what are supposed to be his notes. Every once in awhile, a dark, familiar shape will start to join the rest of the doodles, but before it becomes anything recognizable Will scribbles it out. 

Lunch happens within a blink of an eye, and Will is still spaced out. Still reliving a nightmare he can’t quite remember. The party is talking around him, and he can’t recall if they ever asked him if he’s doing okay. It doesn’t matter anyway, since he would lie. 

Maybe it’s better like this, to let them be happy. Keep them far enough away so his still tainted, messed up self won’t infect them. They moved passed it all, unlike him. So he will stay back. Won’t ruin their happiness. 

_“Will!”_

The shadow encompassing his brain finally flinches away at the sharp word. Will blinks, turning toward Lucas with an automatic passive smile. _“Yeah?”_ He asks, his eyes taking a few long moments to focus on the scene. 

Lucas points to a paper in front of him, his eyebrows scrunched in worry. _“I skipped a section on the math homework and I forgot to finish it. Can I copy yours?”_ He asks, hesitant. 

Will nods. All hesitance immediately drains from Lucas’s face, a relieved smile taking its place. Will watches Max tease him with blank eyes, the shadow that’s creeping keeping forward gaining ground every second. It maintains all of Will’s little focus, keeping him blissfully unaware of his mistake until it’s too late. 

_“Uhh, Will?”_ Lucas raises his head, his face a question Will doesn’t want to answer. _“What’s this?”_

Lucas pulls his hand out of the bag, and turns his palm toward the group. Will knows what it is. There’s nothing else it could be. He looks anyway, though, because if he just lets the universe cause him pain then he feels useless, and challenging his assumption is better than accepting his fate. 

He can feel whoever’s next to him tense, and it takes him a second to realize that it’s Mike. Which should be obvious, since Will can’t remember a lunch where Mike has sat anywhere else. 

_“My nightlight.”_ Will responds. His voice is blank. He can see the entire party looking at him—minus El, who’s still too far behind to start freshman year with them. She wants to, though: nearly screams with joy whenever Joyce mentions the prospect. Will has never seen anyone so excited for school. He wonders what she would think of this. If she would really understand. 

He’s drawn back into awareness by the feeling of Mike’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head. This is probably the first time he’s seen that night light outside of Will’s room since he bought the thing. 

Lucas raises his eyebrows, but Will thinks it’s more out of confusion than judgement. He hopes to God he’s reading his friend right. _“Okay,”_ Lucas starts, glances at Max, then Mike, before finally resting his gaze back on Will, _“Why, uh, did you bring your nightlight to school?”_

Will feels himself freeze, even though he knew the question was coming. His eyes shift around, his mouth rambling off an excuse before he can even think about telling the truth. 

“ _Well—I—It’s just that Luke’s, um, hand looked a bit melted so I, uh, wanted to put some glue on it. But I couldn’t use like normal glue, so I went to find my moms hot glue gun. But it was out of sticks.”_

Will inwardly cringes. 

He’s not sure where the whole ‘lying’ habit started: maybe around the time his dad left, when his mom started to work more and he and Jonathan were both getting bullied, but neither would say a word. It’s only gotten worse. He’s dealt with worse. Now the crushing feeling of his dads departure feels like splinters compared to the deep and gaping wounds his yearly runs with the other dimension leave. 

Lucas looks very confused, and a bit concerned, and Will is suddenly aware that he’s been keeping steady eye contact with Lucas while staring into space. 

_“Sticks?”_

Lucas is somehow raising his eyebrows even higher than before. 

_“Hot glue sticks.”_

_“You brought your nightlight to school to fix its hand—which is completely fine—with a hot glue gun because yours was out of sticks.”_

God, it somehow sounds even worse than Will thought. 

_“Yup.”_

_“And you had to bring it with you? To school? You couldn’t just grab the hot glue sticks and bring them home?”_

Will can feel himself growing even more flustered. There’s a lump growing in his throat, and his hand is clutching his pants so tightly he can feel his nails starting to strain the material. He can feel the edges of hysteria on the back of his neck, and all he can think about is getting to art class. 

_“Oh, uh, well, Lucas, that’s a really great idea. Should’ve gone to you for the plan. Heh. Well. I, uh, need to get to class.”_

Will stands up abruptly, stumbling out of the seat and walking around the table to Lucas’s side. He grabs his backpack and swings it onto one shoulder, snatches Luke from Lucas’s hand, sticks the figurine in his pocket, before stalking off. It happens so quickly, so smoothly that Will barely registers it. Before he knows it he’s walking out of the cafeteria, the eyes of his friends burning holes into his back.

“ _Wait, Will, your homework!”_

Will doesn’t turn around.)

After that, no one brings up the nightlight. Not a peep. Not a casual joke from Lucas or Dustin. Or a well-meaning question from Mike. 

Nothing. 

If Will hadn’t been so _embarrassed_ by it, he probably would have forgotten the experience by now. 

But something changes, after the discovery. Will doesn’t notice it at first, too clouded with embarrassment and swamped with school work. He first sees it at Dustin’s house, two weeks after. 

(Will is staring into a mitochondria—or maybe it’s the thing plants have, unless plants have mitochondria, his eyes are too blurry to tell or to remember—for the past twenty minutes or so, and he’s sure Dustin is in a similar state. He’s faintly aware of how dark it is outside Dustin’s window, and the thumping footsteps coming from the hallway, but he can’t comprehend what they mean until Ms Henderson is knocking on her son’s door and slowly opening it. 

“ _Oh boys, you’re still studying?”_ She asks, looking concerned. 

“ _It’s half the grade, mom.”_ Dustin mutters, barely glancing away from his notes

 _“60%.”_ Will corrects. 

Ms Henderson lets out a sigh, walking into the room and snatching the two books before the boys can even blink. 

_“I can’t believe I have to say this, but no more studying! You’re too tired to learn anything anymore. Will, dear,”_ Will glances up, trying to register what to do next. Where did he put that book? It was just in front of him… _“You can stay over here for the night, I’ll bring you back to Joyce’s before school so you can get dressed.”_

Ms Henderson nods to herself, whispering _‘goodnight’_ to the two, kissing Dustin on the forehead, and walking out of the room with the two Biology books in hand. 

It takes the two around fifteen seconds to figure out what just happened, and another five to realize that they’re having a _sleepover_ on a _school night_. 

It seems like a great deal for Will, who’s been secretly stealing from Steve’s bottles of Jolt Cola for the last week: they taste like liquid garbage—Will now knows why all of Steve’s cans are nearly untouched—but they allow him to survive on little to no sleep, so he can deal ( _Even if his hands get super shaky whenever he drinks it though, which makes it hard to take notes_ ). He’s exhausted, and Dustin actually has an extra mattress that he can sleep on instead of just sticking him on the carpet. 

He’s tucked into a sleeping bag right next to Dustin’s bed, eyes shut and blissfully avoiding any thoughts of science, when he remembers why he’s been avoiding impromptu sleepovers. He bolts upright, scaring the absolute shit out Dustin, who shouts _‘oh fuck’_ before nearly falling off the bed. They both sit in their respective areas, breathing heavily for different reasons. 

Dustin shakes his head, his hair shining against the moonlight. They sit for a few more seconds, Dustin mutters, “ _why the hell did you— oh yeah,“_ stops abruptly, before leaping out of the bed like a fucking _ninja_. Which nearly gives Will another heart attack. 

Dustin shuffles around the room in the dark, cursing every once in awhile when he steps on a toy or bangs into a piece of furniture. He lets out an “ _AH-HA_ !”, which, Will thinks, means he found what he was looking for. His mom shouts for the boys to quiet down and go to bed, and Dustin lets out a quieter _“Ah-ha…”._

Before Will can ask what his friend is doing, Dustin slams his hand into the wall, flips something else, and suddenly a white ghost with a red ‘no entry’ sign around it is illuminating the room. 

_“I got it a few days ago. Cool huh?_ ” Is all the explanation that Dustin provides, before he jumps back over Will and promptly falls asleep. And Will is left looking at the ghostbusters night light in wonder, as he slowly drifts to sleep. _)_

It doesn’t just end with Dustin, though. Next time he goes to Lucas’s house there’s a _My Little Pony_ night light right next to his dresser. He blames his sister for it (which makes Will raise an eyebrow, since he’s pretty sure Erica would rather _die_ than stick any of her precious _My Little Pony_ merch into Lucas’s wall). Even _Max_ ends up taking her old desk lamp out from the attic when Will stays over late, even though he’s not actually sleeping over. She doesn’t mention it at all, so Will doesn’t either. 

Mike, though, takes it a step further. From what Will can gather, there’s now a nightlight in every room in the house. He even got another star wars one, which he sticks right beside his bed. 

(It’s Han Solo, sticking up his gun. It’s the stand that lights up, since Solo doesn’t have a lightsaber. It’s so, _so_ cool)

It’s El, surprisingly, that tops it all. Will has no idea how she heard about it in the first place, but, a month after ‘the discovery’, he walks into El’s room to find it strung with fairy lights. Not _Christmas_ lights ( _which still sometimes give him chills_ ), but small, pretty, yellow fairy lights. She doesn’t say anything when he gives her a big hug, just smiles. 

Steve and his new friend end up finding out about it too (mostly thanks to Dustin’s big mouth). Oddly, though, Will isn’t too bothered by it. 

Yes, Steve and whatever-her-name-is are older, but when _Jonathan_ found out a few weeks before he didn’t even act like it was abnormal. And Jonathan is the only older-kid opinion that should matter, right?

(At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. _)_

Steve goes the awkward route of mentioning it to him while taking him home after a trip to the arcade. It’s stuttered and convoluted, but Will understands that Steve is just trying to be supportive, in his own way.

Will thanks him as he leaves the car, tossing a smile before he shuts the door. The expression Steve greets him with is the purest definition of relief that Will has ever seen. 

He isn’t expecting to get anything from Steve’s friend, but then again, his life tends to have things happen that Will can’t even fathom existing. 

After the summer of 85, they start movie nights. They happen every Saturday at Steve’s house, starting at 4pm and ending, basically, whenever they want them to. At first, only Steve and his new friend, Robin, were invited. Something about shared trauma and an interest in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Will feels faint disgust at the thought of what the two might’ve been doing at the sleepovers alone together, since they were two teens of different genders. He never brings it up though. 

(Actually, as far as he can tell, Robin and Steve _aren’t_ dating. Which Will didn’t think was possible. Every single TV show and movie has the boy and the girl go on an adventure and get together. But Robin and Steve… don’t? Will might be looking into this too deeply)

(Most romance shows and movies didn’t have ‘being trapped by Russians then killing a giant flesh monster’ as the adventure, so maybe Robin and Steve were going against the norm, just a bit.)

Eventually, though, Dustin wanted to spend more time with his friends (aka, he feels left out by not being invited to the movie nights, which makes Will want to give Dustin a big hug when he read between the lines. Dustin is the heart of their party; Will can’t understand why Dustin ever feels left out when he makes them complete). 

With Dustin came Lucas, who came Max, who brought along El, who asked Will, who all worked together to encourage Mike. It was a train that eventually lead to everyone having a massive sleepover in the Harrington living room once a week while gorging on popcorn and sweets well into the morning. 

That’s where Will formally mets Robin Buckley. 

Robin was, and honestly, still is, the snarkiest, coolest, and chillest person Will has ever met. They didn’t speak to each other at first. Avoided being alone together and rarely made eye contact. For the first few months, the only members who spoke to her were Steve (obviously), Dustin, Lucas (oddly), and Erica (for the few times she actually came over. She generally proclaimed herself ‘too busy to be hanging out with nerds like them’, so Will didn’t see her much)

Robin and him did interact a bit, though, since they shared the same sense of humor when it came to movies. Sometimes they were the only two to laugh at a joke, and they would give each other an awkward look. Other times one would mutter under their breath about a character, causing the other to laugh. After that they would give each other a quick look, then subtly turn away and remain silent for the next hour or so. 

So, yeah, they weren’t exactly close.

Will thought it was going to be that way forever, but he’s been getting used to being wrong. 

_(_ It’s mid February. Dustin recently found out Steve doesn’t know who the _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ are, so Dustin’s forcing him to watch some episodes. Which means everyone else is stuck watching them too. 

Of all the cartoons on TV, _TMNT_ isn’t the worst, Will’s sure, but he’s never been super interested in it. The orange one is kinda funny, and the plot is unique enough to be cool, but the fact they are all in love with April makes him uncomfortable. They are _turtles_ , after all, and April is a sixteen year old human. 

So Will is understandably bored. His legs are fidgeting and his fingers are tapping rhythms onto his knees. Max, who has been paying rapt attention since Dustin turned it on, has sent him a few annoyed glares. Even El, who is normally indifferent to the groups’ tics, has given him a few looks. 

Even though Will would rather be anywhere else (and he’s pretty sure Steve, Robin, and Lucas are all on the same page as him), he can’t speak out against it. He tried to come up with other ideas when it was first getting pitched, but Dustin was too excited to listen. The only thing stopping this now is if Mike or Max jumps up and changes it themselves. 

_(_ Max is the only one who has absolute power over movies and tv show picks, since if she doesn’t like it none of them are going to enjoy the movie. Unfortunately, she’s apparently a huge fan of the turtles. _)_

It all leads to him leaving the living room, mumbling about getting a can of Fanta. When he gets to the kitchen he doesn’t do anything at first. Just stands in front of the fridge for a few minutes. Breaths. 

Finally, after who knows how long, he opens the fridge and starts the search for a Fanta. An 8-bit achievement noise sounds in his head when finds one last can behind a bottle of ketchup. God, he’s such a nerd. 

_“Pass me a 7Up.”_

Will nearly jumps a foot in the air, clutching the Fanta and snapping around. He’s met with thin, honey brown hair and hazel eyes: the unamused expression of Robin Buckley. Her eyes are dull, and she looks about as bored as he feels. 

She raises an eyebrow. Will turns back around, grabs a green can, and quickly hands it to her. He shuts the fridge, stands there for a second, before awkwardly leaning against it. 

The two stand in silence. Will memorizes the kitchen tiles as he sips his drink. Steve’s parents have strange taste. Every single room in the house seems to be some sort of cream or brown. Not counting the upstairs bathroom, which looks like Barbie threw up on it. Will didn’t even know they _made_ pink sinks. 

“ _You’re the one with the nightlight, right?”_

Will feels himself freeze at her words. His eyes meet her own, slightly stunned, slightly confused, but mostly afraid. Robin is _older_ , a senior to his freshmen, and, as much as he hates to admit it, she seems to carry this air of importance. Its like what he used to feel for Jonathan, when he was small. Obsessed with being like his “cool older brother”. Yet it’s different too. It’s strange for him to describe it.

She’s just… she always moves like she has nowhere to be. Squared shoulders, mellowed expression, slow walk. If Will hadn’t seen her snort so hard milks’ come out of her nose, he would’ve thought her expression was permanently stuck in indifference. 

He just wants to impress her. It’s a weird feeling. When he and Jonathan were kids, he used to bring all of his drawing ideas to Jonathan, and would only draw the ones Jonathan liked. It’s crazy to think about now, but the feeling is so similar that Will is stuck replaying the memory over and over again in his mind. 

Even now, just sitting on the counter with her converse tucked into the cabinet below, she looks like this is just a regular Sunday. That asking a 15 year old kid if ‘he’s the one with the nightlight’ is perfectly normal. 

He slowly nods at her words, hesitance clear in his skittish expression. Robin stares at him for a long moment before shrugging. 

_“Nice. What does it look like?”_

She says it so casually that it takes Will a few seconds to realize he’s not about to get insulted. After that he’s not really sure what to do. 

He didn’t think anyone would ever ask that. In all the worse case scenarios that his brain has supplied since his first kidnapping, general kindness never showed up. How is someone supposed to respond to it? 

“ _Hey, earth to nerd? Is it something super weird like a naked girl or slave Princess Leia?”_ Robin looks faintly amused by both options. Will doesn’t know how to respond to the new question either. He doesn’t really know what’s happening. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Robin say something that not sarcastic before—not counting the frantic rambles after she first met El—and it’s weirding him out. 

“ _You’re being nice to me?”_

Robin looks momentarily stunned at the question, her ‘arms crossed, tough guy, bodyguard’ look fading. “ _What?”_ She mutters. She finally fully turns toward him, and Will is hit with the familiar expression of confusion and pity. 

Well, not pity. Robin is way too apathetic to actually pity someone who’s not in her ‘circle’. Will doesn’t think he’s anywhere close to earning that. 

But she’s looking at him with something. Maybe intrigue? Or just extreme confusion. He can’t dive too deep into it before Robin starts speaking in that genuine tone again. 

“ _Of course I’m being nice to you: I’m not a monster.”_ Robin raises an eyebrow, and Will suddenly understands how Steve feels. _“You’re not stupid, Will, and for some reason I respect you. Maybe it’s because you came back to life or fight monsters somewhat regularly, or something, but it doesn’t matter. I’m only mean to people who suck.”_

“ _You’re mean to Steve all the time.”_

_“Your point?”_

Will laughs a little, Robin smiles, and Will feels the swoop he gets when Jonathan tells him he likes a drawing he made. He doesn’t want to look into it. “ _Steve only sucks around 40% of the time.”_

Robin scoffs, “ _Dude, I spend, like, 18 hours a day with him, sometimes more. He sucks 70% of the time, no question.”_

“ _Agree to disagree.”_

_“Of course his kids are going to come to his defense.”_

_“We’re not his kids!”_

_“Says the twelve year old.”_

_“I’m 15.”_

_“Same difference.”_

Will smiles, _“You know, Mike would probably argue about this for a few hours. Thankfully, I have the ability to be mature and take a joke for what it is. Mike… not so much.”_

Robin laughs, honest to god laughs, and Will feels proud. He broke that icy exterior. He broke the ‘cool’ persona that Robin somehow always carries. “ _Thanks for the tip,_ ” Robin says, smiling with all her teeth, “ _I should go to you every time I want to annoy one of you kids.”_

Will nods. A strange silence, one neither comfortable nor awkward, starts between them, occasionally interrupted by a shout from the other room or a gulp when one of them drinks from their soda. After a few minutes, Will is pretty sure he should be making an awkward excuse to head back to the group by now, when Robin says:

“ _I have a nightlight.”_

Which surprises him enough to nearly cause his Fanta to hit the polished linoleum tile. Just when Will thinks he understands the sarcastic-nerdy-goofball that is Robin Buckley, she throws in some sudden understanding-accepting-resilient-wise older sibling vibe that Nancy and Jonathan never got quite right. They tried, certainly, but they never had the complete and total disregard for the opinions of the masses that Robin seems to have perfected. 

Nancy and Jonathan see the world—the fucked, scary, strange world they live in—and want to change it. Want to try and make it beautiful again. But Robin just sees all the world's bullshit and sticks up a huge middle finger. Sifts through the garbage and finds a path no one’s ever followed before. She ignores the people who tell her she’s going the wrong way, that she won’t find anything there, and finds her own path to happiness.

And, for some reason, Robin has decided to grab Will from the trash and start talking to him about _nightlights_. 

Will looks back at her, finding her already looking at him. Taking in his expression. She looks worried, vulnerable. Will didn’t know she could look like that. 

“ _Seriously?”_

Robin winces. 

_“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I-uh, really? You-You do?”_

Robin spends a few seconds looking at him before she nods. 

_“What, uh, what does it look like?”_

Robin smiles softly, _“It’s a strawberry. The whole thing glows, but the seeds glow the most. The switch is in the leaves.”_

Will’s nods, oddly fascinated. _“That’s so cool. How much does it light up?”_

Robin’s smile is growing, starting to show some teeth. Her eyes are a bit wider than normal, almost stunned. _“The space beside my bed and the path to my door._ ” She pauses for a moment, “ _What about yours?”_

Will doesn’t hesitate. _“It’s a Luke Skywalker figurine. But it’s weird because it has white robes and a green lightsaber, so it’s a complete mix of—“_

“A New Hope _and_ Return of the Jedi.” Robin finishes for him _,_ “ _Did no one in the marketing department even watch the movie? Or just look at the poster?”_

“ _Exactly! He’s really poorly made: he’s broken off the stand he’s on a few times and I’ve had to use superglue to keep him there. A couple of times the wires have almost broken so the green is a bit dull now. It used to light up the entire left side of my room but now it just illuminates my side table and door.”_

Will stops himself from saying any more. He hasn’t ever told anyone that. Actually, he’s not sure if he’s spoken more than a sentence about how broken the nightlight is after nearly a year of having it. He didn’t expect the wear and tear of carrying it around in his backpack to have such a harsh impact. 

“ _Why don’t you just get a new one?_ ” Robin asks, “ _They’re not too expensive_.”

“ _Mike got it for me.”_

Will can tell when Robin processes his words, because her face changes entirely. The wrinkles strain away, a smirk and eyes filled with pure delight replacing them. 

“Mike _, huh.”_

Will feels his eyebrows knitting together, “ _What about it?”_

“ _Nothing, nothing.”_

Robin gives him a little smile after her words. He’s seen this smile before, in Mom’s face when Jonathan first denied his crush on Nancy. He’s just never had it directed at him. Especially by someone as awesome as _Robin Buckley_. 

Before Will’s mind can play catch up and figure out what that _look_ means, Mike’s voice cuts off any thought.

Mike’s head peeks around the corner, “ _Hey, Will, you done? Dustin’s trying to order pineapple pizza and I need you to help me fight for meat lovers._ “ he says quickly, running back to the couch without waiting for an answer. 

Will looks at the wall that divides the living room and the kitchen, where he knows all his friends are sitting, and becomes abruptly aware of how close they all are. 

“ _I—I’ll see you around, Robin._ ” Will mumbles, and suddenly he’s out of the kitchen, sitting at Steve’s feet, Mike at his side. When Robin comes from the kitchen a few minutes later, Will doesn’t glance away from his friends.)

He doesn’t know why, exactly, his conversation with Robin made him so distressed. It was positive, and she’s a funny girl. Quick witted. He sees why Steve likes her. 

Yet, that’s not completely true. All he can do is replay the look she gave him when he mentioned Mike. The quirk of her eyebrow. The inquisitive look in her eye. It’s sending his brain in several differently directions, most of them leading to panic. 

(A few lead to a strange feeling of kinship. Understanding. He doesn’t know why.)

It takes Will a few hours to realize that Robin totally knows he’s _completely in love with his best friend who happens to be a boy_ and then he’s having what might be a mid-life crisis/panic attack in Steve’s really nice Barbie bathroom. How could she know? No one was supposed to know. Because queers don’t live very long, do they? Especially not in a conservative town in the middle of _Indiana._

 _(_ Indiana, where gay people are strung up on trees. Where crosses are stuck into every lawn. Where homophobes are _created_.)

For a few weeks, Will walks on eggshells around Robin. Barely any eye contact. Passive responses to any questions or comments. Avoiding any alone time like the plague (she might kill him. She might. He doesn’t know her plan).

It’s the way he used to act around Dad, and he can tell it’s starting to make Robin very uncomfortable. Will can’t stop, though, because what if he says the wrong thing and suddenly all of Hawkins knows he likes guys. That he’s even worse than they imagined. 

(He can see it in the papers now: _LOCAL FREAK, “ZOMBIE BOY”, TURNS OUT QUEER. Keep Your Kids Out Of The Woods, Or They Might Come Out Tainted!_ )

Maybe two weeks after _it_ happens, Will messes up. Because he’s clumsy and can’t look where he’s going and _of course_ Robin is holding a huge bowl of popcorn and a glass of _milk._ And suddenly it’s all on the floor and the stupid, stinky, it’s-never-going-to-come-out-Steve-is-going-to-actually-murder-Will, milk is soaking into the nice cream carpet and Will might fucking _cry_. 

Then Robin is in front of him, _smiling_ , and tells him that she’ll take care of it. She cleans it up. He’s not yelled at. She never says a word about the mess to Steve. Doesn’t mention his queerness, either. 

Nothing happens. Not that night. Not the next day. Not the next week. 

Will doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s extremely rare for anything to go his way, and it’s still weird when it does. He’s not sure how to react anymore when people are nice. 

He takes a deep breath, channels his innocent, twelve year old self, and opens himself back up to Robin. They talk about nightlights and movies and Will finds himself seeking her out when he’s in town. Makes sure to stop by the movie store and not only greet Steve, but Robin too. 

Which turns out okay. 

Yeah, Will sleeps with a nightlight at 15, but he could give _less_ of a _fuck_ what anyone thinks. Because he has the best friends in the entire world right next to him, and they are fucking fine with it. If he also _happens_ to be a bit queer, his friends might be fine with that too. 


	2. Gone: Jane Elizabeth Hopper

At 15, Jane “El” Hopper sleeps with stuffed animals. 

Now, this shouldn’t be  _ extremely _ unusual: many adults slept with giant body pillows in the shape of women for Christ’s sake! Plus, El is still learning about culture and all the things the 80s has to offer to a young, deeply traumatized girl. Honestly, a few preschool toys are probably a good idea! Let the girl have a childhood before she’s shoved off into high school with the rest of the party. 

The stuffed animals are fine. Perfectly normal. (Yeah, people raise a few eyebrows when they see  _ Sheriff _ Jim Hopper shopping through the toddler section at the toy store, but, according to Dustin,  _ Joyce _ told them to ‘mind their damn business’). El finally has a reason other then “see Mike. See friends” to finish her homework (that has been assigned by Nancy and Joyce in the past few months): play with toys. 

And so, past El’s (newly official) 14th birthday, after her math and history are done, she can sit in her room and play with any toy she wants while she waits for the school day to end. Then, Will comes by (usually with his mother), and plays with El while he tells her about the day. 

(El’s setting everything up as he talks. A stuffed puppy beside her Raggedy Ann—who gives her the creeps—a turned over storage bin over the puppy while Ann is laid on top. She sets the puppy as close to the plastic as possible, imagines him as scared and lonely. Trapped and waiting to be saved. Searches through her toy box for Will’s character while he talks. 

He’s sitting on her bed while she’s on the floor. Her fairy lights are all on, even though it’s only about 4 in the afternoon, which gives the room a yellow glow (they got put in just last week, and she loves them already. She knows Will loves them more). He’s kicking his feet as he talks. El thinks that’s adorable. Like a cat pawing at yarn. 

“ _ We finally started a new campaign yesterday night. It took us four hours to set it all up. Mike created it, but he’s been teaching me how to DM more. I think he deserves to play for a bit, and I want to see how far I could take my own campaign.” _

Will loves to talk about Mike. El loves to hear about Mike. It's how their conversations usually start: a common ground they can work off of. Plus, Mike will get brought up tons of times anyway since Will spends most of his time with him. 

“ _ Oh! I was also thinking about creating a new character. Maybe an elf or something.” _

El nods at his words, even though she’s not completely sure what an ‘elf’ is. When it comes to D&D, though, she finds the answer is more confusing than her assumption. She finally finds a Barbie in a princess dress, and figures that will work for the time being. 

“ _ Will,”  _ She says, a—now familiar—lightness filling her chest when he immediately stops talking, looking at her questioningly. It’s almost fascinating how much they seem to just care. How she just needs to say one word to know that she’s loved _. “I’m ready.” _

Will nods, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. He sits down, staring at the Barbie with an odd look on his face. One eyebrow is scrunched up, and he’s grimacing. 

El raises her eyebrow like Max often does. “ _ What?” _

Will blinks, his face going slack. “ _ Oh, well, I just wasn’t expecting to be playing with a Barbie, I guess.” _

El’s eyebrows scrunch up, and she can feel herself frowning. “ _ Why? Is she not pretty? Why wasn’t you expecting to be playing?” _

Will pauses before he answers, hesitating, and El figures she said something wrong and he’s trying to figure out how to respond. Dustin tends to correct her on her grammar and phrasing a lot. Max does it sometimes, only when she really can’t understand what El is trying to say. It’s weird, and a bit embarrassing, but El’s grown used to it. 

“ _ N-No, it’s not that.” _ Will finally stutters out, rubbing at his wrist awkwardly _ ,  _ “ _ She’s, uh, very pretty. It’s just— _ “ he stops again, looking up at the ceiling like it will have all the answers. He finally meets her eyes, and musters a meek, “ _ I’ve just never played with a Barbie before.” _

El hums. She doesn’t really understand the strange and random differences between Boy’s stuff and Girl’s stuff. Max tried to explain it once, ending it with a firm ‘but it’s all bullshit anyway.’ It’s so confusing. Strange. She used to have toys at the lab, just like she used to have siblings. But they didn’t have differences. You either got to play or you didn’t. 

El doesn’t know how to comfort her friend, so she just sticks out the Barbie. He looks back down at it, slowly taking it from her grasp. “ _ Play with it like...it’s a normal toy. Like it’s your toy. She can be fun or bad. You make it. Like other toys. It’s not different _ .” She struggles to complete her sentences, since she hasn’t discussed toys like this before. There’s nothing to go off of, no other conversation to get a base from. She has to make it all up on her own, and from the way Will slowly nods, she thinks she made sense. 

She can feel herself smiling.)

The others will come over too, just not as often as Mike and Will. Will comes over every day with Joyce, or El and Hopper will visit the Byers. Mike goes where she goes. 

(And Max. Max comes over. Max with her cool orange hair that seems to swish behind her like she’s Wonder Woman, riding her skateboard at the speed of lightning! 

Max is super, super cool. She likes to tell El about all the cool things she got to do in California, like boogie boarding and surfing  _ ( _ El’s not exactly sure how it works. Being able to just  _ ride _ waves? Like they’re bikes? She saw Billy do it in the dream world, and she hopes she will get to see Max do it too, someday _ ).  _ Max tells her things that the boys don’t _.  _

She shows El  _ Gossip Magazines, _ which are filled with pretty boys and girls and quizzes that tell you stupid things. Max laughed when El pointed them out, telling her that they don’t mean anything. They’re ust funny things to fill out. El hadn’t really understood the idea, but Max looked so happy to be sharing all these  _ things _ that she wasn’t going to express it.)

When Mike comes over, they usually don’t play with her toys. Sometimes they kiss (and laugh when Hopper charges in on them, no longer mad, only teasing), but not as often anymore: they still like it, but there’s other fun things to do. Sometimes they watch TV or read a book. Other times Mike and Will will work together to explain a TV show or concept to El so she can enjoy it with them. Recently they have been going through all the Star Wars lore with her, which has been very long. They want her to have a bit of an understanding before she watches the movie with them on Friday, but ‘a bit of an understanding’ has somehow become three straight days of discussion and reexplaining. She hopes the movies will be good enough to warrant all this build up. 

Max loves playing dolls with her. She tells her that it reminds her of when she was younger, when he dad and mom would play with her after work. Max tells sweet stories that make El smile, but also made her chest ache. She wishes she had that. She’s glad she has it now. 

(Max is a good friend. A  _ best _ friend. The kind in teen movies that paint nails and help with boys. 

Max is nice, but she’s not weak. She’s strong and powerful, yet kind and giving. Every day with Max makes El want to read through dictionary after dictionary, just to learn new words to describe her with. 

_ “You know, everybody leaves.” _

El is sleeping over at Max’s: her parents are going to a concert in the big city, and Billy hasn’t been back at the house in over a year. Last El heard, he was planning a road trip to California, and that was a few months ago. He’s probably going to give her an update in her dreams soon anyway, so she’s not worried. Max’s parents had barely even glanced at her before they left, and they paid even less attention to their daughter _.  _

_ ( _ It confuses El, how some parents can be as cruel as Papa. Papa did it because El was bad, but Max isn’t bad. Max never talks back, never glares, never mutters _.) _

El looks up at Max’s words, shutting the comic book in her hand. Max’s book— _ The Giver _ —is laying, untouched, on the bedspread beside her. She’s on her back, staring at her ceiling like it’s a sky full of stars. 

El wonders if it’s her parents absence that brought the comment on. 

“ _ Sometimes _ ,” El pauses, searching for words. It’s so much easier to explain in her mind.  _ “People do leave. They go because they want to, or because they don’t need or want us anymore. This is sad, because we might still want them. Still need them. But we need to find the people who stay.” _

Max sighs. “ _ Nobody stays, Elster _ .” Max responds. The nickname slides off her tongue and sends somersaults into El’s stomach.  _ “They all leave, even the ones who promise they’ll stay.” _

El frowns. She doesn’t like this discussion. She puts down her comic, scooting down the bed until she’s laying beside Max, staring into the beige sky. 

“ _ No, people stay. You stay. I stay _ .”

Max sighs, though it’s starting to sound more like a groan. She gets up on one elbow, staring straight into El. “ _ No, El, like, one day, we’re going to go to college and leave each other.  _ Forever.” Max stares, searching for something. 

_ “We could go to the same college.” _

_ “What if we don’t get accepted!”  _

El raises an eyebrow, confused. “ _Then we don’t go to college?”_

_ “We have to go to college.” _

_ “No.” _

“El _.” _

“ _ I would rather stay with you. You go to college. I fight monsters.” _ El sends Max a smile. She thinks that was a good joke, especially because it’s a truthful one. 

Max sighs, exasperated, but El can see the smile on her lips. “ _ Fine, whatever. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? _ ”)

Recently, Max has been bringing over her board games, and the two have been forcing Will—and sometimes Mike—to play with them. They’ve gone through a dozen in the past two weeks, and El is convinced that the people who create them have to be a little crazy. There’s no way someone sane could come up with  _ shoots and ladders.  _

Dustin brings her his own toys instead of playing with hers. He has so many that El is almost jealous—a feeling she only recently has come to name—but he shares them too graciously for the feeling to stick. It makes him sad that she can’t fly his Millennium Falcon anymore—not since the mind flayer shoved a meat-arm into her and Billy nearly died trying to save her—but once he hears that she actually  _ did _ make it fly, over three years ago, he nearly jumped for joy. 

It’s surprisingly Lucas that plays with her the most. He likes to blame his younger sister for it, saying he was forced into playing and dressing Barbies since his sister could form words. Apparently, Erica has been bossy since birth. El finds this very funny. 

El likes these times very much, so she likes her toys even more. 

Toys are nice. She remembers, faintly, that she got toys when she was a kid. Not too many—not like she has now, with her  _ generous  _ friends and father—but a few. Some blocks. A stuffed animal. 

She never had them long, though. Either another kid would take them, or a scientist would come in and take them all away. Punishing one of the kids by punishing all of them. 

El hadn’t known just how much she missed because of the lab. How much it had sheltered her from the joys of the world and kept her captive, hidden in a place of fear and pain. It used to be her normal. But she escaped. Hadn’t she?

(She doesn't know why the lab still follows her, all these years later. Doesn’t understand why her mind can’t realize that she’s  _ safe _ now. The days of screaming, pain, and longing for things she doesn’t know exist, are behind her. That the lab is so, so far away. 

Her mind always reminds her of its point of view: that she’s being stupid and not noticing the approaching danger, that it will keep her more safe than anything else. She relied on it for so long that it’s hard not to listen. 

A door slams too loudly. 

Someone screams on the television when she doesn’t expect it. 

Seeing a brunette woman out of the corner of her eye and thinking, for a hysterical second, that it’s her mother. 

The same thing happens with old, thin men in suits. 

They make her lose her breath—a phrase she saw in one of the novels she’s read recently about a girl that’s so, so similar to her—make her hair stand on end and her back straighten to attention. She freezes whenever it happens. She can’t tell if people are around her anymore, or if she’s as alone as she was. All she can do is stare at the ground and wait for her breath to return.

Mike notices first, always so in tune with her. Max always reacts next, pushes everyone away from El. Then Will comes up slowly and whispers  _ ‘Jane’ _ and _ ‘El’ _ until she’s back. Then Dustin and Lucas joke with her until she laughs, and then it’s so far behind her. Far as the lab. 

She remembers it all later, in a faded, unfocused way. Can’t remember any sound other than Will calling her name. It’s weird, El doesn’t quite understand it. Doesn’t want to understand it. Thinking about it too much just brings her right back to the moment, and it’s like she’s reliving it. 

The things that start them are similar, yet different. She can’t predict when it will happen. Can’t tell anyone how bad it will be. She’s as defenseless as she felt she was all those years ago. 

They happen every month or so, during the weekends while she’s in town with everyone. Usually she’s at the arcade or the video store, or at least in those general areas since she doesn’t have any spots of her own, and there’s always been someone with her. 

Not now, though. Now she’s alone in her room, sitting against the wall as she silently cries. She wants to move toward her bed, but she can’t imagine getting up. Can barely even breath. All she can hear is Papa’s harsh footsteps as he gets closer and closer. She doesn’t know what she did wrong. Can’t scream for help, forgiveness, or in explanation. All she can do is wait for her punishment. 

A hand touches her foot and she flinches back, her head burying itself further into her knees, her hands gripping her curls. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. He’s—

_ “El? You with me, kid?” _

The gruff voice starts her enough to get her head out of her knees. She meets the eyes of someone she knows. Her heart wants to hug him, hold him close, cry and confess all of the panic she’s been dealing with in secret. 

Instead she buries herself back into her knees and sobs. 

The room is silent aside from her sobs, and her head his pounding too loudly to pick out any sounds that might start. She doesn’t know how long she sobs until a voice breaks through. Calm. Soothing. Kind. 

The voice tells her that it’s okay, that she’s okay, that Hopper is here. That her _ real _ dad is here. She relaxes, bit by bit by bit, until she slumps down against the wall. It’s like she’s a puppet and all her strings have been cut. 

She leans left, and is met with a warm body. She relaxes into it, breathing in the smell of earth and detergent as her tears dry on her cheeks. The voice is still talking, still whispering, and she feels safe again. 

“ _ So, uh, you gonna tell me what that was about?” _

In all the chaos of the past few years, plus the random occurrences of the attacks, El doesn’t think anyone ever mentioned them to any of the adults. They were just never around when they happened, and all the kids had one of those “unspoken rules” that they wouldn’t talk about them among themselves, so it wasn’t like they could accidentally hear about it. 

Mike and El have a tendency to view their way as the best way, which makes them but heads roughly when on opposite sides, but a force of nature when working together. This leads to almost no communication of the twos—and extended, the parties—problems with the adults. Outside of Dustin and Will, El isn’t sure if any of them talk out their problems with the adults (including Steve and Robin). 

El bites her lip at her father’s words. She’s not sure where the hesitation is originating from: a habit she’s picked up from the party, her own confusion over the subject, or the subject matter itself. She knows she’s trusts Hopper, would do anything for him, but she doesn’t know if he will understand. If he can help her the way she, admittedly, needs. 

Hopper picks up on it, because he’s smart and quick, and squeezes her shoulder a bit. _ “Why don’t we start with what happened. Can you tell me about it. Describe it to me?” _

Describe. Such a fun word. Makes El think of paintings and color. 

“ _ My breath went away. Got scared. Heard—heard footsteps. Angry footsteps.” _ El mumbles, slightly stomping her feet to demonstrate the sound. Hopper hums in acknowledgement. 

_ “That sounds awful, Elle,” _ he says, and El feels her lip twitch at the nickname. She likes nicknames. “ _ You know, I had a friend that used to go through that. A few, actually.” _

“ _ Really?” _

Hopper hums _.  _ “ _ He lived in a home that wasn’t great. They made him think he was wrong, that his mind was messed up, and tried to force him to take pills. He escaped, but sometimes he felt like he never did. They hurt him, and even if they’re gone, he sometimes thinks they’re still there.” _

_ “Like Billy?” _

_ “Yeah, kid, like Billy.”  _

Billy. Billy who was yelled at and hit, who was like El. Not exactly. But similar. 

Billy, who escaped. Who stood in front of El and let flesh-arm after flesh-arm hit him. Who Max cried over. Who the scientists took away before anyone could see if he was alright. 

El sometimes sees, in the corner of her mind's eye, rusty brown-red hair. Hears the sounds of waves and laughter. Sees fleeting smiles and feels the heat of the sun. She doesn’t know if it’s still residue of Billy’s memories, or if Billy’s still out there. If he’s escaped to the place he was happiest, and is letting El see glimpses. 

She hears words too, sometimes. Whispers of plans. Words of comfort. She thinks he has people now, and that the words aren’t really for  _ her _ , but for  _ Max _ . She tries to mention them to her best friend when they happen, but they have been few and far between lately. El thinks that’s because Billy is finally content. 

_ “There’s a lot of people in the world like that, so many that we have a name for what they go through.” _ Hopper pauses, sounding out each letter carefully _ , “P.T.S.D” _

“P.T.S.D.” El tries, and Hopper nods. 

_ “Right. It’s an acronym. “ _

“ _ Ack-ron-im?”  _

“ _ Yup. It means each letter stands for something else. Do you want to know the full word? It’s long: that’s why we have the acronym.”  _

“ _ Yes _ .”  _ El  _ nods firmly, her eyes never leaving Hoppers. Hopper chuckles, giving her a look that makes El bite back a smile. 

“ _ It stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”  _ Hopper pauses for a second, letting El take in the information,  _ “It’s for someone who has dealt with something traumatic, something that still gives them terrible anxiety, even after it’s over. It makes them have flashbacks to what happened, which makes them think that they never left the bad situation.” _

El looks at Hopper, a bit stunned. 

“ _ Sound familiar?”  _ Hopper asks. He smiles, not a happy smile, at El’s nod. “ _ There’s lots of people in the world who have it, and they all have a different way of helping themselves. Either by themselves, or with friends and family.” _

“ _ The party helps me.” _

Hopper nods, seemingly not surprised that this has happened before. El’s not sure how to react, so she doesn’t. Just leans into Hoppers shoulder and tries to relax. To tell her brain that she’s safe. 

_“Maybe we should figure out a way to help you when the party isn’t around?”_ Hopper suggests. El nods again. _“You ready for bed, kid?”_ El nods. Hopper’s shoulder shakes with laughter. 

When El wakes up in the morning, she’s clutching a box. It’s poorly wrapped and has Christmas paper even though it’s the middle of spring. El quickly snaps awake at the scrawled _ ‘from, dad _ ’ on the front tag. She can’t help but smile. She takes the tag off carefully, setting it on her nightstand next to her galaxy lamp  _ ( _ that fills her ceiling with stars at night _ ),  _ before ripping open the paper like Dustin taught her on her first Christmas. __

It quickly becomes it favorite thing in the universe.)

The present—a Strawberry Shortcake doll—gets carried nearly everywhere when she’s at the cabin. She feels safe leaving it there when she goes out since she’s with her friends. It’s like her best friend, but in doll form, she thinks one day. She loves it. 

Strawberry Shortcake is pink and plush, which makes most of the boy’s shield away from some reason. Max says they’re just being stupid, so El puts it in the strange catagory of “weird things boys do because they’re boys” and calls it a day. She’s learned that, unfortunately, some things don’t have explanations that anyone is willing to provide. 

Shortcake is also supposed to smell like strawberries, but it truly doesn’t. It’s a mix of the artificial flavor she gets from malt cherries, mixed with the gross antiseptic that Mike’s kitchen usually reeks of. No one can truly place the smell, but they all agree it’s  _ not  _ anytype of fruit that’s ever been eaten by any of them. 

El thinks it smells how a school would in ice cream form. Which makes perfect sense to El, but no sense to literally anyone else, apparently. 

Strawberry Shortcake is the first stuffed animal to make it onto the bed (which is always set with Star Wars, My Little Pony, or plaid sheets, gifted by Dustin, Lucas, and Hopper respectively), and is definitely not the last. Next comes Jenny and Lewis, her cabbage patch dolls, then her three Care Bears (Cheer Bear, Funshine Bear, and Grumpy Bear, with Grumpy being the favorite, of course), and, last, but not least,  _ Optimus Prime _ . 

Because Optimus Prime is the coolest toy  _ ever _ . 

Yes, he isn’t soft like Grumpy or cute like Jenny, but Prime is  _ red _ and  _ blue _ and  _ sharp _ . According to Will, he’s a  _ protector _ , filled with so much power, but only using it to help his friends. He’s loyal and true. Just like El.

_ And _ Optimus Prime is Will’s favorite toy

(And Dustin’s, but Dustin only sees El during the weekends and every Friday, during movie nights, so Will lays more claim, as far as she’s concerned)

When each of her friends come to visit, they play with her toys. They don’t want to, initially, but Max and Will taught her “puppy eyes”. She’s still rather confused by it, but they play with her now so that all that really matters. 

(She even gets Hopper in on the action, if only for a few afternoons. After buying the toys, he’s completely left them alone. The only time El is sure that he’s touched them is when he puts them away for her if she leaves them out in the living room for too long and she isn’t home. 

But, during March, there’s some big science fair that all the boys involve themselves in, and Max gets sucked into volunteering for it, and suddenly no one can hang out with her for  _ Five. Whole. Days.  _

The first day she mopes around, watching TV and trying to play by herself. But she can’t seem to do it. She knows that she spent almost a year alone when she was 13, nine of those months isolated in Hoppers cabin, so she should be fine. She’s dealt with worse. Five days should be easy compared to a year. 

But it’s not. It’s the exact opposite of easy. 

After two years of being around someone every single day, being able to talk and play with everyone whenever she wanted, she’s just not used to the loneliness. It’s familiar. She’s felt the feeling before, felt it constantly before she met her friends, but she’s not used to it. Not anymore. 

After a day of moping, Hopper finally caves, signing deeply before muttering, “ _Okay, kid, you’ve made your point. What’s eating you?”_

El looks up from her completely uneaten pasta, her eyes gaining some light back. “ _ Everyone is busy with the science fair. I’m alone, again. _ ” She says. 

“ _Nice sentences_ ,” Hopper praises, and El flashes him a smile before she goes back to moping. “ _And that’s too bad. When are they done with the fair?”_

El slumps down in her seat, poking her spaghetti as her as she stares at it, dejected. _ “ _ Five  _ days.”  _ She mumbles. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Hopper mutters, and she looks back up to find him staring back, his right hand on cheek, fingers creating a V below his eye. “ _You’re going to be moping around until Friday?”_

El nods again, frowning. It disappears, though, when an idea strikes her.  _ “Unless you play with me! _

El imagines Hopper’s eyes exploding from his head in shock , _ “What?”  _ He says, agast, “ _ No way, kid. What-What if I just take you over to the Byers’? Or what about that Steve guy and that girl; They could come over?”  _

The idea of Steve and his friend visiting is a bit ludicrous, so El can’t help but giggle at the frantic look in her dad's eyes. Steve is too afraid of Hopper to go near the house, and she hasn’t spoken to that girl at all since they met. She knows Will and her talk a lot, though, so she can see where Hopper got the idea. 

Hopper’s expression slowly melts into fondness, and El can feel her chest light up. 

“ _ Okay, fine, kid. One play-time-whatever.  _ One _. _ ”)

It didn’t end up being one. In fact, El somehow goads Hopper into spending every day after work in her room, telling tales of magic while clutching a care bear. 

The toys are fun. They’re good. They remind her that she’s okay now, that Papa is  _ gone _ , that he’s not going to take her away. That Hopper is her  _ Dad _ and Joyce might be her  _ mom _ and Will and Jonathan are her  _ brothers _ . And they aren’t her family because they forced themselves to be, or because someone forced them to be, but because they wanted to. Because she wanted them back. 

(On the days that are dark and unforgiving, she holds them close. Has her stuffed animals circle around her, so that nothing can get to her. They keep her safe. Not the animals, but what, and who, they represent.)

When she sleeps, it’s comforting. Being surrounded by a wall of fluff and Optimus Prime is amazing, yes, but that’s not the reason it’s comforting. It’s comforting because whenever she looks at Lewis she can imagine Lucas gingerly picking it up when she asked him to play with her, slowly getting more and more into it, until he almost looks disappointed when he has to leave. Jenny—right beside Lewis, holding his hand—with her red hair and side eyes that are shared by teen girl who plays with her. The three bears reminding her of her friend, dad, and boyfriend respectively, Cheer (Dustin), Funshine (Hopper), and Grumpy (Mike). And, of course, Prime’s watchful stare reminding her of her protector and brother: Will. 


	3. Gone: Michael Wheeler

At 16, awake and asleep are impossible to differentiate for Mike. 

Time hasn’t stopped or slowed since El—Jane in public—showed up in the woods, or when his best friend got pulled into another dimension by a giant monster, or when his best friend was when possessed by  _ another  _ monster, or when his friends and family were trapped in a mall controlled by Russians trying to escape the clutches of a giant flesh monster— _ Jesus Christ his life is weird.  _ According to all of Mike’s research (glancing from the clock to his classmates, tapping his foot, counting the days in his head) time is moving the exact same way it always has. 

Yet time doesn’t feel the same. 

Sometimes it feels slow, like Mike is underwater. His limbs are liquid, slow and shaky, and everyone else is walking normally. Everyone else is on land, but Mike is trapped in his own little bubble of water that’s impossible to pop. Sometimes the bubble gets flooded, and water fills his lungs; he’s left silently screaming, unable to breath, while his head pounds so loud that he thinks it might explode. 

Other times it’s fast. It’s like his life is a movie and he hit fast forward. Little white cracks line his vision as moments speed ahead. Until the vhs tape breaks or someone abruptly hits play, he’s stuck in a hell of fast movements and a racing mind. Then, suddenly, he’s thrust into a conversion that he doesn’t remember starting and people are staring at him like he’s  _ crazy.  _

(And then what he said to Will, all those months ago, comes back like he only just said it. 

_ “Crazy together?” _

And it feels a little guilty that they really  _ are _ going crazy together. That his words, somehow, made both of their feelings true)

When Mike’s somewhere, he tends to drift. It’s almost like he isn’t really  _ there _ . His body is, he thinks, but his mind is gone. Taken away into another dimension. Or maybe it is there, just fuzzy. Like he’s in a dream, his body moving slowly and jaggedly.

Every day reminds him of the night that El supposedly “died”. 

There were lights—so many lights—flashing yellow, blue, red. The sound of laughter, the kind that only comes after death was so close, just a whisker away from snatching them all away, surrounds him. His parents are there, and so is Nancy and Hopper and Joyce and all his friends. But. But. 

But  _ El  _ isn’t there, so nothing else really matters, does it? She sacrificed herself for them. She’s dead because of them. 

The lights are blurred, the people are silent, and life is meaningless. And it’s always like that. For  _ months _ . 

At first his friends make it better. Help him focus on the happiness that came before the tragedy. But soon they fade away too, quickly replaced by grief and  _ anger.  _ So much  _ anger.  _ And Mike can’t do anything but scream as he pushes away grief with nightly wallow filled calls and hopeless dreams. 

Will… Will is helpful. He makes the ringing in his ears leave and shows him the beauty that the flashing, blurry lights often hide. Around Will the anger fades, until he can feel joy and hope again. 

When Will is around, when it’s just the two of them, Mike allows himself to talk about Eleven.

The party doesn’t mention her. Ever. Not anymore. Not after Mike snaps and yells one too many times. Not after she died right in front of them. 

To the town of Hawkins, there was no young girl named Eleven, who sacrificed herself to save four boys she met only a week before. Mike only has Lucas, Dustin and Will to talk about Eleven with—

He tried talking to Nancy about it, once. She was so shocked that she asked if he was feeling okay. He hasn’t brought it up again. 

—but none of them will bring it up. Dustin might crack a joke about how El could grab something off some shelf that they couldn’t reach, but he always looked at Mike straight after, as if assessing if he was in trouble. If Dustin crossed another line he didn’t see. 

Mike hates it, because for all his defensiveness and snappiness, there is nothing more that he wants to talk about. Wants to share memories. Hopes. Dreams. Get confirmation that she’s actually  _ real.  _ That he’s not going crazy. That he’s not alone. 

He had never brought it up to Will before. He just never thought to. Will never got to meet El, before she died, so he couldn’t crack jokes. Couldn’t bring up memories. All Will had to go off of was what the other boys had said about her. 

(And faded memories of a bald girl shaking him awake, telling him to hold on a little while longer. Of that girl disappearing. Of the cries of a monster as he’s finally  _ caught _ . _ ) _

Mike remembers when Will first brought her up to him. 

(It’s January. 64 days since El died. Mike calls her every day on the super com. He’s not sure why. He can’t seem to stop. Can’t stop hoping that maybe she’s still out there. That she’s alive. Can’t stop holding, no, clutching onto the hope that she can hear him. 

_ ( _ He doesn’t realize it then, but he couldn’t properly mourn her. He was so caught up in his hope that he was just permanently stuck on  _ angry _ . He was a shitty friend.)

He can’t call her as easily today, though, because Will is sleeping over. It’s the first time in awhile. Joyce has been more than over protective since he’s come back, wanting to stay and watch them hang out like they’re  _ five _ . It’s made hanging out a bit awkward. Joyce, though, finally allowed Will to spend the night over at Mike’s without sleeping on the living room couch or something like that. Mike can tell Will’s relieved to not have constant eyes on him: Mike’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s really been at  _ peace _ since everything happened. 

They’re in the basement, playing Mike’s Atari on his Dad's old TV. Or, they are  _ supposed _ to be playing. Will sure is: Mike can hear him smashing buttons like his life depends on it. Mike, though can’t stop glancing—more like staring—at the fort. The fort that she slept in. That he nicknamed her in. That she smiled in. 

That she will never go into again. 

He’s replaying her soft voice saying  _ ‘goodnight, Mike’ _ , memorizing the blankets with his eyes like he hasn’t been staring at them for the past two months, when the sound of a character death breaks through his thoughts. He glances back at the screen, watching his  _ life _ go down with blank eyes, before glancing back at the fort. 

Will’s controller hits the ground, echoing faintly against the carpet, and green eyes are staring into his brown. They go from eye to eye, and Mike faintly wonders if this is what it’s like to be under a microscope. 

Will’s eyebrows scrunch together, his lips pursed. 

“ _That’s the third time you’ve died.”_ Will comments, voice soft. Mike, Mike hasn't heard it since he confessed that the amazing girl who helped save him was dead. “ _Since I don’t think we’re getting any closer to the boss, maybe we should stop for the night.”_

Mike’s eyes widen.“ _ No, we can—“ _

“ _Mike_ ,” Mike’s mouth snaps shut _._ “ _You’ve been out of it all night. What’s wrong?_ ” Will asks. 

Mike glances at the fort again, and when he looks back he finds Will’s eyes still on his. A look of understanding crosses Will’s face, and suddenly Mike’s gaze is locked on the dusty orange carpet. 

The silence between them is thick. Heavy. Like the days Mike wakes up and it seems like the world is on his shoulders. Like a breath in the wrong direction could make him just  _ collapse _ . 

_ “What, uh, what was she like?”  _ Will asks. 

Mike glances up, confused. Will shrinks slightly at the eye contact. 

_ “Eleven. What was she like?” _

Even though Mike’s imagined a million different ways to talk about Eleven in the months of her absence, all of that flies out the window at Will’s question. Mike stays silent. It’s a long silence, much too long, and he knows Will is already overthinking everything, so he lets go of his filter. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Mike isn’t sure if his throat is squeezing shut or opening up _ , “She, she was awesome. We already told you about her powers and stuff—“ _

“ _ Not what did she do, Mike. What was she  _ like _? _ ”

Mike pauses. Looks to the floor. A smile pinches his cheeks. It feels foreign _.  _

_ “She was… she was shy. I think she hadn’t had any friends before us. She was so quiet, and we were so scared that we almost scared her off. But she, uh,”  _ Mike pauses, and glances up at Will. He looks so entranced, like there’s nothing else he could possibly listen to, and he feels his chest swell up the same way it does with El. “ _ She reminded me of you. _

“ _ She didn’t use words, she used actions. You had to tell everything she was thinking just by her expression. When she used her words, you listened because you knew they were important.” _

“ _ She sounds really cool.” _

_ “Yeah, she is.” _

Mike’s eyes widen. His chest might be exploding. Or maybe it’s his heart breaking.

“ _ Was. She was.” _

Mike tastes blood on his tongue, and it takes a second to realize it’s from his cheek. He unclenches his teeth, clenches his hands instead.

He looks down when he feels it. Watches, slightly distant, as Will’s right hand slips into his left. Says nothing when Will squeezes. He squeezes back. 

“ _ You know, when my dog died, my mom told me that no one is ever truly gone. As long as you still have the memories and your love for them, they’ll always be right there with you.” _

Mike doesn’t say anything, only nods at the words. Will doesn’t mention the tears in Mike’s eyes. Mike doesn’t mention the candy bar he finds on his sleeping bag. Neither mention the hand holding. 

When Will goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Mike calls El. He tells her what Will said, tells her that Will is the best friend in the world. Crawls into his sleeping bag and falls asleep to Will’s humming. He always hums when he’s anxious. 

_ “Love of my life/you’ve hurt me _

_ You’ve broken my heart/and now you leave me” _

Mike wonders if the song is just for him.)

When El disappears, Mike starts some strange habits. 

Sometimes he just starts speaking his thoughts. At first it’s like he’s narrating his life, like when he tells it all to El at the end of the day. Muttering  _ ‘why is this thing so damn big? Are you trying to kill us?’ _ under his breath during class. He would get a few weird looks, maybe a few laughs, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t already used to. Then it moves onto little comments, ‘ _ blue like the sky’, ‘ugly, but not bad’, ‘hearing aids are...balloons?’ _ , that don’t make sense to anyone, not even Mike. 

Sometimes the party will laugh and ask him what he’s talking about, and he realizes that he has no idea what he just said. After a few weeks, that laughter became whispered worries, before slipping into the same normality that everyone else’s quirks are sorted under. 

When El finally returns, alive and safe, (thank god. He was right. He was  _ right _ ) Mike just figures that maybe his new quirks would...leave. Vanish as quickly as they appeared. They don’t though, because they live in Hawkins, Indiana, where things are never fun or safe or easy. In fact, he ends up gaining a few more habits. And the few that he has get  _ worse.  _

His mutters go from funny comments, to plain old self hatred. Anything that Mike thinks of as a mess up is immediately met with dozens of ‘ _ useless, dumb, idiot _ ’. He says it quiet enough for no one to hear him. Will notices, though, and—oddly—so does Max. After that Max, who sits next to Mike during Math and English, will kick him under the table if he starts his mutters—

(Will didn’t like that very much, so it quickly changes to Max starting some banter. Mike is easily distracted.)

—and Will, who has Mike in Biology and French, will grab his arm underneath the table, and slowly, ever so slowly, inch his way to Mike’s hand. And Mike goes silent because all he can focus on is the tingle of Will’s dainty fingers. 

His other habit is, well, he doesn’t really have a name for it. It’s when he just, sort of, checks out. Where he’s not  _ anywhere _ . Time doesn’t exist in that space. It’s not a fun space: when he’s there there’s no happiness, no joy, no laughter. But it’s not a bad space either: there’s no pain or sadness there either. 

Mike doesn’t have control of when he goes there. Doesn’t know what causes it. His heart will be hurting and his mind will be moving faster and faster and  _ then he’s not there at all.  _

Time only feels normal when Will’s there. Biology will go from being a long forgotten memory (even though it happened only an hour ago) to an hour of  _ awareness _ . It’s something Mike doesn’t even know he lost until Will returns it.

With Will, lights aren’t  _ blurry,  _ they’re  _ bright _ . Will opens up doors Mike didn’t realize we’re closed, and he does it so gently and with such kindness that Mike is left open, raw, and  _ loved _ . So, so  _ loved _ . Will’s hugs make him feel things he didn’t know he could still feel, and his smile makes him forget his own name.

When he’s around El, things are real again. It’s like he can forget about all the stress and trauma and just sit on her bed and  _ laugh _ .

El makes him laugh like nobody else. She makes his face burn from blushing and his cheeks hurt from smiling. She leads him passed the closed doors—that have been locked longer than he can remember—to a garden, where she lets him explore flowers and trip on stones. She teaches him as much as he taught her. 

When Will  _ and  _ El are there, it’s like time lights up in fireworks. Every second feels important. Every touch lights up his skin in small shivers ( _ good shivers!) _ , every shuffle makes him glance, and every  _ word _ makes his brain light up. He’s suddenly so  _ aware _ of everything. 

And it’s—it’s  _ different  _ than the alertness he gets when he’s scared or fighting: When he’s pumped full of adrenaline it’s like there’s a haze, making it so the memories aren’t completely clear when he thinks about them. When he’s around El and Will, his heart will race and his hands get sweaty and his eyes never stay in the same place long—yet, they’ll always end up looking back at El and Will—but there’s no  _ haze _ . 

Every memory with the two of them is clear as day, like it was happening right in front of him. Taking El out for her first ice cream (Just him and El). Waiting for the chance to play the new arcade game (Will). Doing homework after school (Will  _ and  _ El). 

(Sometimes the  _ others—Lucas, Max, Dustin, Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, even Joyce and Hopper _ —will mention a memory, and Mike will have to hide his shock because, in his memory, all he can remember is El and Will, and it always takes him an extra second to place his other friends.)

No matter how insignificant, he can’t seem to forget them. He mentioned it to his mom once, because none of his friends actually talk to Mrs Wheeler, so he figures it’s safe to confide something  _ so private _ . 

(“ _ Hey, Mom?” _

Mike is sitting on the kitchen island, watching his mom make lunch. Karen hums is acknowledgment, and Mike knows that’s as much as he’s going to get out of her. 

“I’ve been having these, uh,  _ really _ vivid memories lately. Like I can name the number of stripes on my—uh, friends shirt. Stuff like that.”

Karen hums again, finally turning away from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and looking at her son. 

“ _ You know, you had a photographic memory when you were a kid. Used to be able to describe each room in the house by memory alone. Oh! And you could describe your father’s outfits  _ perfectly _! Went away when you got older, though. Maybe it’s popping back up!” _ She says cheerily, chuckling slightly. She turns back around, grabbing a knife from the drawer. 

Mike is pretty sure that’s not how brains work, and he doesn’t think what his mom describes is very hard since the house has been the same since the 60s and he’s not sure if his dad has changed his pants at all in the past week.

“ _ Oh, uh, cool. Thanks mom _ .”)

Mike thinks that it makes sense. Kinda. Not really. Because photographic memory shouldn’t only be brought on by certain people. Especially two people. Who he might be in love with. Or something. 

(He doesn’t tell anyone else about his memories. Barely even mentions it to himself _. _ )

Recently, when time gets wonky and Mike’s day gets blurred by half dreams, he finds himself getting “woken up”. During math, Will will set his foot on top of Mike’s. El will lay her head in his lap, or vise versa, while they study. It’s small. It’s subtle. But it works. 

On really bad days, when Mike’s vision gets spotty and his breathing is labored, and life is more like a nightmare than a dream, Will will lead him out of school and they’ll spend the day at Hopper’s. 

(The first time this happens, Hopper comes home early with Joyce on his heels. He’s loud and angry, and Joyce is muttering about how the school called and how she had to miss work and was so, so worried. Mike doesn’t pay too much attention, doesn’t have the energy or focus to try. Mike’s laying on El’s bed, curled up with Grumpy Bear. He thinks he might be crying, but he’s not  _ sobbing _ . The tears are just leaking from his eyes, unbidden, and tracking down his cheek onto the bedspread. He doesn’t have the energy to remember  _ when _ or  _ why _ he started crying, nor the energy to figure out how to stop. 

They are trying to have it in private, the fight that is.  _ Trying _ being the important word, as the door is ajar and both El and Hopper tend to be loud (especially when they’re together). Hopper is lecturing them, going off about ‘danger’ and the ‘importance of education’, like Joyce and him didn’t barely pass high school, while Joyce is mothering El and Will softly in the pauses Hopper is forced to take because of a little thing called  _ breathing _ .

El keeps breaking in every few sentences, telling him that they ‘had to’ and how ‘he wouldn’t understand’. Mike figures she started watching teen movies with Nancy, as many of the phases don’t completely fit the situation. Her intentions of being a brat are clear, though, which only riling Hopper up more. Mike thinks he should be laughing. Or something. 

Everything cuts short very quickly, though. Even Mike stops breathing when it happens. He’s not sure how quickly he starts up again. 

“ _ Shut up for a second and LISTEN to us!” _

Mike can hear Will’s heavy breathing from the bedroom, the resounding silence from the three other parties making it easy. After a few moments, he takes a deep breath and continues. He speaks so  _ softly _ and  _ slowly _ that Mike has to strain to hear it. __

“ _ Mike hasn’t handled, uh,  _ it _ , in the same way we have. Mike handles emotions very directly. Either something affects him or—or it doesn’t. If it affects him, he’s big and emotional and he needs everyone to know that. When he’s excited, he wants people to be excited with him, or he feels like his emotions didn’t have an impact. That he doesn’t matter, I guess. _

“ _ But...When he doesn’t want something to effect him, he ignores it. He ignores it until it boils up and comes out in an explosion. And—and that explosion isn’t normally destructive and big.” _

Will takes another breath, and Mike knows where this is going. There’s a creek, as well as an exhale, and Mike can imagine Joyce and Hopper sitting on the big couch in front of the TV, Hopper nodding for Will to continue. El sitting on the arm chair, her elbows on her knees, unintentionally mirroring her adopted father. It’s a nice image. 

“ _ I— _ We _ haven’t told you this, but, uh, sometimes Mike has these weird days. Dustin calls them his ‘dark days’. Sometimes he will come to school and it’s like— _ ,” Will pauses for a few moments, and Mike knows he’s trying to pick his words carefully,  _ “it’s like he’s a—a husk. Like his body is there, and he’s moving and taking notes and nodding when you talk to him and smiling when you ask him if he’s okay,”  _ Will’s voice is getting more frantic and wobbly, and Mike can feel his finger twitch with the need to comfort. He wants to move. But his limbs are heavy and his brain his heavier and he  _ can’t move.  _ “ _ But then you’ll look into his eyes and there’s  _ nothing there _. It’s like he’s running on auto pilot. And it’s—it’s—it’s—” _

“ _ Scary _ .” El finishes, and Will sniffles. 

There’s silence after that. It’s entirely possible that this might be the first time El and Will have talked about this  _ out loud _ . He can tell that they have thought about it, as they have definitely noticed it. It’s nice to know that they care. It sucks to know it doesn’t matter. That any second something could jump through the window and kill them all, or some government guy could kidnap El while everyone is sleeping and they’ll never get to say goodbye. 

More tears run down Mike’s face, but his breathing stays the same, and his eyes never leave the unfocused speck on El’s wall. 

El’s voice cuts through everything. Just like it always does.

“ _ I noticed. Mike would  _ zone out  _ during study time or play time, and I would tap his shoulder and yell  _ ‘Mike’ _ and he would wake up. _ ”

She pauses, and Mike knows she’s either thinking through more sentences or looking to Will to finish what she was trying to say. Will’s voice answers his unasked question. 

“ _ The party noticed too. We would try to talk to him at lunch and he would just kinda hum and stare off into space. He wouldn’t actually answer to anyone, and would flinch away if anyone tried to touch him. But—“ _

Will stops, and clears his throat in the embarrassed way he does when he gives speeches in class. There’s more silence, before El picks up where he left off. 

“ _ He lets us touch him, and he wakes up when we touch and talk to him a lots.” _

Will continues. He’s got his debating voice on though, like when Mike and him discuss whether Luke or Anakin was the chosen one in the fake fights they have. It sounds serious, though. Mike can’t remember hearing this voice outside of their supernatural run-ins. 

“ _ So we started doing a thing where I would kinda act really tired in class so I could lean into him and whisper stuff and then I would take him to El’s and we would study and talk until he was back.” _

It comes out fast, and Will barely stops to breath before he continues.

“ _ But today Mike was barely even  _ blinking _ and he started crying in science but it wasn’t  _ crying _ crying because he wasn’t sobbing he was just—” _

Will takes a deep breath, and he sounds so hysterical that Mike would be surprised if Will wasn’t crying. He hears a creek, a shuffle, and whispered words he  _ knows _ are from El. 

“ _ He took him here. Pretended to pee so he could come. Mike got better. He’s still crying and he needs to  _ stay _.” _

El’s words sound final, and the shuffling starts again. Footsteps approach, and Mike isn’t surprised when he sees the door creek open the rest of the way from the corner of his eye. 

The bed creaks, and suddenly El’s curly hair is tickling his neck and her hot breath is hitting his collar. She wraps an arm around him. His breath settles with it. 

He can feel Will moving above him, grabbing things around the room before gravitating toward the bed. There’s a dip near his head, a second of nothing, before his head and torso are floating up and Will is slipping under them. He can’t tell if it’s someone lifting him or if El is using her powers. She’s been iffy enough lately for it to be either. He finds himself too grateful for the warm comfort to think about it too much. 

They spend the next four to six hours sitting in El’s bed, Will reading while Mike slips into and out of dream, sleep, awake, panic, comfort. _ ) _

After the first time, Joyce “talks” to Karen and suddenly Mike is able to leave school with the permission of Chief Sheriff Hopper and a signature of some local therapist saying he has some sort of appointment. 

The times at El’s are nice, even if they are his burriest memories of them together. He knows the activities shift: Sometimes they’ll just cuddle, or Will or El will read, or someone will braid his hair while the other tells him about their day or an upcoming event or what the weather is like. Anything works. Anything to fill the silence. 

Those days are less frequent now. Not to say that he’s spending less time with Will and El—quite the opposite, actually—but recently more and more of his days are just  _ normal _ or  _ great _ . And sometimes they still go to El’s and do the things they do on Mike’s bad days, but Mike can participate. He gets to talk and laugh  _ with  _ them, instead of just listening to them while they pretend he’s answering.

Which is nice. It’s nice to be here, to joke and smile. To breathe deeply and not have to worry about water filling his lungs. Or Will getting taken. Or El dying. 

Time is still weird, though. 

It’s still too fast. Still too slow. It’s never normal. Seconds don’t tick by, hours do. Mike feels like he’s losing time. Feels like there isn’t enough. 

He almost  _ lost  _ El. He thought he did for nearly a year. Went through—what he thought were—hallucinations, called her every night, and wished and wished that he could’ve somehow switched places with her. That she was still living and he wasn’t. 

(Which was deep for a thirteen year old. Also very suicidal. If it weren’t for his friends, Mike isn’t sure where he would be.)

He also  _ begged  _ the universe for more time. A week wasn’t enough. Seven days to get to know someone, nearly a year of realizing how little that is. 

That year made him very, very aware of time. Of how quickly it can leave you, how little it can be. How every second needs to be  _ appreciated _ , because what if in the next one the person he cares for is  _ gone _ . 

Sometimes Mike will just look at Will, glancing at the clock every now and again to make sure that time is  _ real _ and  _ happening _ and  _ normal.  _ That every second isn’t too fast, or too slow. That he isn’t dreaming. That Will is there and okay. 

He does the same for El. He knows he does. He doesn’t know if Will and El notice it, doesn’t know if they know what it means. He isn’t quite sure what it means himself. Does he want time to be slow? Does he want it fast? Why does it matter at all?

For all of Mike’s overthinking, he can be rather oblivious. Forgets that Will and El aren’t the only ones he does that to. Because he has other friends: Lucas, Dustin, even  _ Max  _ that get the same treatment. He worries less around Steve and the adults, but every once in awhile he will stare at his mother and get struck with the thought that she’s going to  _ die _ . 

And not in a few decades, surrounded by friends and family as she drifts peacefully into the beyond, but because she was eaten by a lily mouthed monster, or shot by some Russian spy, or maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’ll show up in the newspaper, a name in a list of dozens. Everyone else will think that she died in a car crash or from some chemical spill, but Mike will know the truth. 

Mike will know  _ he’s  _ the one who killed his mother. 

Dinner suddenly seams so  _ fast _ and he’s moving so  _ slow  _ and he needs to look at a  _ fucking clock _ . His mother is going to  _ die _ and he can’t remember the last time he told he he loved her—

(“ _ I love you, mom.” _

There’s a clatter as Karen’s fork hits her plate, followed by several long moments of silence. Everyone is staring at Mike, and Mike is counting the peas on his plate. He glances up at his mother, unsurprised to find her looking at him with astonishment. It reminds him of the months after El disappeared, where she would fix him with a look every time he came home, in trouble—which was nearly everyday during that time. 

Though, it’s different now; there’s no disappointment. Her eyebrows aren’t creased in confusion and her jaw isn’t set. She doesn’t look angry or upset or concerned. Just…

She just looks surprised. Maybe a little happy. 

Mike smiles, though it comes out as more of a grimace.  _ “Sorry, I don’t say it that often. You’re—you’re just really great and I love you.” _

Mike can feel his sisters’ stares on the side of his head. He glances at the two of them, hoping that they’ll look away. They don’t. 

Nancy looks confused and concerned, her eyebrows creased the same way their mom’s do, and her mouth open. Her fork is frozen halfway to her mouth. Holly—seven years old with a motormouth that rivals Dustin’s  _ easily _ —is struck silent. She’s looking from face to face, clearly trying to figure out how to react. Mike doesn’t know if she even remembers the last time he said that to any member of the family, but he stops that train of thought as a pain in his chest flares up. 

Hell, even his  _ dad _ has looked away from his newspaper to give him a weird look. Ted just looks completely befuddled, which is his normal face so Mike doesn’t really care. The fact that he got his attention at all is shocking enough. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Karen starts. Mike snaps his eyes back to his mother, taking in her soft smile as her calm voice greets him,  _ “I love you too, Mike. _ ”)

The point is, Mike hasn’t exactly hidden his feelings. It’s not really his thing: if he has a feeling, he’s going to feel it. And probably talk about it to anyone who will listen. It’s just simpler that way, plus it helps him sort through how he actually feels, rather than what his base instinct is. 

He’s always been told that he was easy to read: his face betrays everything that he thinks, and his impulse control is low enough for him not to think through his expressions. He can’t count the amount of times he’s been elbowed or kicked because his face showed the fact that him and the party were lying their asses off, or when he rolls his eyes without thinking, only to land them all on detention

He feels things strongly, he loves to whine and rant about his issues, and his expression tells more than his words. The problem with this combination is that when he doesn’t mention something, everyone notices. His friends are observant, he’ll give them that, and they know him well enough to figure out what he’s refusing to say. 

It’s a strange dichotomy to have. Mike ranting about how bus drivers are complete idiots and that they should be given more training if they were going to be put in charge of driving around two dozen high schoolers, while his friends wonder if he’s actually mad at the bus driver industry or if he’s avoiding talking about his current C- in History. 

A poor grade in history isn’t what has been on Mike’s mind recently, though. Because the ‘dark days’ have felt so far away the past few months, so the creeping feeling of one in the corner of his mind is  _ terrifying _ . 

Unfortunately, while Mike knows his friends well enough to figure out if they’re being possessed or not, he’s also completely oblivious to most things that aren’t life threatening, so he’s pretty caught off guard when Lucas corners him to talk about his less than positive thoughts.

(Mike and Lucas have been neighbors since the Sinclair’s moved two houses down when Mike was four and Nancy was on the cusp of turning eight. They became friends in first grade when their moms both joined the PTA, and they were stuck at the meetings, bored out of their minds. They would spend nearly the entire day together: six hours at school with Will, two hours after school at the PTA (which Joyce couldn’t join because of work), then going to one of their houses’ to finish their homework and play until the other had to go home. 

Mike’s earliest memories included Lucas: seven years old, sliding down the banister and breaking his leg: eight years old, chopping off Nancy’s Barbie doll’s hair and facing the wrath of a rage filled twelve year old: ten years old, both of them getting stuck in a tree after making a bet to see who could climb the highest. They had to call the fire department for the last one, which made Mike want to swear off tree climbing for the rest of his days. 

Mike  _ knows _ Lucas. Has gone through adolescence, puberty, and more with him. He will probably go through college with him too. Lucas is witty, brave, loyal, cunning, and so damn caring. He would do anything for his friends, and has proved his loyalty with the past few years of monster fighting. 

So it shouldn’t surprise Mike that Lucas would purposely ram Mike with his bike in order to stop him from running inside his house, but Mike’s still sitting on the concrete gaping at his friend in shock, so maybe he isn’t as aware as he thinks he is. 

Lucas throws his bike into Mike’s grass, leveling him with a look _.  _ “ _ Come on, let's go to the basement. _ ” he says, strutting past Mike and walking into  _ Mike’s _ house like he owns the place. 

They had been biking home together after watching a movie at the local theater—alone since Joyce still wasn’t letting Will bike at night and Dustin hitched a ride with Steve (who didn’t have room in his trunk for their bikes, and there was no way they were just going to  _ leave _ them there)—when Lucas asked Mike if he could spend the night. Mike said ‘no’ without thinking, rattled off a half hearted excuse, tried to dive into his house only to get here: splayed onto the concrete like a dead butterfly in a display case. 

His gets up, letting out a few dramatic grunts as he dusts himself off. He wanders inside, greeting his mother before walking into the basement, shutting the door behind him. He descends the stairs, finding Lucas sideways in the armchair, legs over the arm, jestering toward the large couch in front of it. 

As Mike sits down, he’s struck with how similar this is to therapy. Maybe Lucas, with all his strange humor, did that on purpose. 

Lucas clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Mike that just says ‘don’t even try to get out of this’, before speaking, “ _ So, I think we both know why we’re here. Do you want to start or should I?” _

Mike remains silent. He doesn’t even know where to start. Or what brought this on in the first place. 

Lucas sighs, but he doesn’t look surprised. 

“ _ The past week or so you’ve been weird: sneaking out of school, ignoring all the teachers, and zoning out during lunch. And don’t even get me  _ started _ on your weird rants. Which either means that you’ve suddenly gained an interest in the politics surrounding the school system, or you’re avoiding something” _

Mike should really give Lucas more credit: the guy really knows him. 

“ _ And tonight you were almost completely silent. You said maybe two things and spent the last few hours either cuddled up to someone or walking behind everyone, staring off into the distance like you were in some old western movie. And sometimes you were just  _ staring _ at us like we were going to disappear.” _

Shit _.  _

“ _ And it’s not like your ‘dark days’ or whatever Dustin calls them: you’re still here. You can hear us and understand us, you’re just not answering. And none of us know why.” _

Mike looks at his knees. While Lucas had been talking, he curled into a ball, his side leaning into the back of the couch. He can feel Lucas’s eyes on him, but he refuses to look. 

After nearly a minute of uncomfortable silence, Mike answers. 

“ _ I—I don’t really know where to start.” _

The room is quiet for a few long seconds, before Lucas speaks. His voice is softer, more careful. 

“ _ You don’t have to tell me what you’re thinking, or why this is happening. I—We just need to know how to help you, Mike.” _

Mike looks up at Lucas again. 

_ “Help me?”  _

“ _ Like, feel better and stuff. Just tell us if you want to be left alone or if you want us to talk or—or hold you, or something.” _

_ “Really?”  _ Mike asks, and wants to disappear at how weak he sounds. How vulnerable. 

Lucas gives him a small smile. “ _ Yeah, really. _ ”

Mike knows he’s blushing, and his chest is convulsing in a mixture of embarrassment and happiness. He bites his lip, holding back a smile as he stares at the crummy orange carpet. 

“ _ Well _ ,” his mood sobers quickly as he gets back to the subject at hand, “ _ Y-You know my, uhh, ‘dark days’?”  _ He obviously does, Mike. “ _ Of course you do. Sorry. _ ”

“ _ Don’t apologize, Mikey.” _

“ _ Sorry. I mean. Okay.” _

He takes a breath. It  _ totally _ doesn’t shake. 

_ “So I kinda get these feelings whenever one is coming. It’s... You know how you can tell rain is coming because you can see the dark clouds? It’s like that. I can see the clouds. And the air is getting different. But it’s not raining. Yet.” _

Lucas nods. Mike lets out a breath. His eyes are closed, or maybe just unfocused, so he does notice Lucas moving to stand and pace until he starts speaking. 

_ “Well, what if we do it so we tap something, probably you, twice. And it means, like, ‘can we touch you?’ And stuff. If you say yes then everything’s okay and we’ll cuddle you and shit. But if you say no, or if you don’t respond, we will leave you alone. And if you feel like talking you can explain what is okay and what isn’t.” _

Mike nods. His eyes are blurry. “ _ Yeah. Yeah okay.” _ )

Lucas, because he’s amazing and considerate, spreads this to everyone through the coms. Mike just watches him, tying knots into the strings of the couch as he wonders what he did to get such incredible friends. 

It’s easier after that. The “Dark Days” (why does that sound so fucking ominous, Dustin?) come and go, and his friends are there. They don’t leave, even though Mike can tell they’re sometimes so tired of life that they’re hinging on their own Dark Days. 

Which is a thing they should discuss, really: the Dark Days of the other group members. 

When Will becomes a shadow of his former self, either glancing around nervously or staring at nothing. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t smile. But Will has his night light (which Mike gave him. Mike gave him a present that he liked so much that it’s his tether to humanity. It makes Mike shudder with warmth if he thinks about it too much). 

El is different. Sometimes she talks so much, it’s like she’s trying to drown out any memory of the time when she couldn’t talk at all. She will blabber about something, using as many words as possible until her words lose all meaning. They don’t tell her that, though. Mike knows she needs them to listen, and they will. They will help her however she needs, whether it be when she talks to much or doesn’t talk at all. 

And then there’s Dustin. 

_ ( _ It’s a Thursday. At least, Mike  _ thinks _ it’s a Thursday. It feels like a Thursday, but it could very well be a Tuesday or maybe even a Monday, and Mike would be none the wiser until he has to write the date for whatever project he’s doing in Wells’ today. 

He’s walking through the hallway, weaving through groups with half a mind as he tries to remember the reading from the night before, when he’s suddenly pulled away. 

He blinks, looking around the new setting of the Health classroom, which apparently doesn’t have a class right now. The door shuts, muting the chatter of the hallway to a soft murmur. Mike meets the wide eyes of Dustin Henderson.

“ _ Hey, Dustin? _ ” Mike asks, confused, “ _ don’t you have Wells with me in like, _ ” Mike checks the clock, “ _ three minutes? _ ”

“ _ Can we be late? _ ” Dustin asks, breathless. Mike’s nodding before he can process the question. 

“ _ Yeah, of course _ .” No one wants to be in Wells anyway. “ _ What’s up? _ ”

Dustin looks almost like he regrets bringing up anything in the first place, which is  _ never  _ good. Mike watches him pace, slowly putting down his backpack. He thinks this might take awhile. 

“ _ So, um, _ ” Dustin stops speaking, looking from Mike to the floor. Finally he sputters out in rapid succession, “Y _ ou know how last week El got freaked out at the football game and stopped breathing and I wanted to call the nurse, but then this mom came up to us and calmed El down and told us it was a panic attack?” _

Dustin sucks in a big breath, staring at Mike with pleading eyes. 

_ “Yeah?”  _ Mike answers. He remembers it pretty vividly; Joyce and Hopper had nearly passed out when they heard. Sometimes Mike really hates their new open door policy about trauma (but he likes it to. It’s nice to know there are adults he can talk to about this kind of stuff). 

Dustin continues, “ _ and you know how a few weeks ago Will took you out of school because you started crying silently in class? _ ”

It was more like three months ago, but Mike nods anyway. He’s been getting better since then, especially with the open door policy and how helpful his friends have been. 

“ _ And you know— _ “

“ _ Dustin!” _ Mike interrupts, trying to keep his voice gentle. “ _ Why are you bringing all this up?” _

“ _ Because I,”  _ Dustin hesitates, which makes Mike slightly scared because Dustin only hesitates if he doesn’t want to say something (or if he’s just trying to be dramatic, but Mike doesn’t think that’s what’s happening),  _ “Because I understand.” _

Intelligently, Mike respond _ s: “What?” _

_ “I-I have dark days, too. They’re not like yours. I’m not even sure if they count, really, but, but sometimes I feel like if I stop talking then the whole world will just _ explode _.” _ Dustin gasps so violently after his confession that Mike is half worried he’s going to pass out. He immediately puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, steering him into a seat before sitting next to him. He starts rubbing in slow circles, soothing the boy the same way he’s done to him time and time again. 

They’re close enough together to be breathing the same air, but Mike can’t find it in himself to care. The room is quiet, the bell ringing above their heads, signaling that they’re late to class. Neither move, though, listening to far away footsteps of students running to class. 

Mike starts slowly, his voice no more than a whisper,  _ “You know, just because you react a bit differently doesn’t mean you don’t have dark days. I think we all have them; ours just tend to be a bit worse. _ ” Mike shoots him a playful smile. 

Dustin laughs lightly, “ _ I blame all the trauma. Not great for the health.” _

The two laugh softly for a few moments, and when they stop the silence starts again. Mike looks at Dustin, and he understands, just a bit, of what he was saying. 

_ “When _ ,” Mike starts, waits for Dustin to meet his eyes again, “ _ When you say you feel like the worlds going to explode, what do you mean?” _

Dustin looks away, jaw set, nose scrunched, and eyes nearly glaring at the floor. He’s not angry though, he...he seems almost  _ embarrassed _ . 

_ “ _ Well _ , it’s like my thoughts have different weights. I  _ know it _ sounds weird, but just let me explain.” _

Dustin stares at Mike, and it takes him a few seconds to realize Dustin’s waiting for an answer. 

_ “Yeah, course, yeah.” _

Dustin takes a deep breath. 

“ _ Okay, so, you know how you have thoughts that go through your mind. Like ‘she has a nice dress’ or ‘he’s cute’— Well, not so much the last— you know what I mean!”  _ Mike doesn’t totally understand, but he nods anyway _.  _ “ _ So, so I have thoughts like  _ some _ of those normally, but, but on my bad days, they aren’t...good? _

“ _ It’s like everything I say is  _ dumb _. And I know it’s dumb normally, but then I have a shitty feeling in my stomach and I feel like I’m going to puke or something because I’m  _ sure _ that you all  _ hate _ me.” _

Dustin doesn’t get to continue, because Mike tugs him into a hug. 

“ _ Fuck. That.” _ Mike has never felt so sure before. “ _ We could never hate you, okay? Yeah, you can say some dumb shit, but you also say cool, profound, nerdy shit, too. _

_ “And we love you, okay? We love your rants and your ideas and your jokes. Why the fuck would we be friends if we didn’t love it?” _

Mike can feel Dustin tremble under his hands, so he goes to pull away, scared that he did something without meaning to. He’s stopped, though, as Dustin clutches onto him, shoving his own head into the crook of Mike’ neck. 

Mike just traces circles into his back, holding onto his friends even though he’s getting twitchy from sitting still for so long. After a few minutes Dustin pulls away, sniffling. Mike just looks at him, waiting. 

_ “We’re missing class.”  _ Dustin settles on, smiling slightly 

Mike scoffs,  _ “Would you really rather be in Wells right now?” _ He asks, indignant. 

Dustin fake shivers, causing Mike to snicker. “ _ Ugh,  _ Wells _. That woman could be a demogorgon in disguise, Mike!” _

_ “I know, Dustin.” _ )

They create a new code at Dustin’s insistence, where a squeeze means the person needs comfort. It works really, really well, and Mike loves Dustin so fucking much. 

Max has them too, though it’s not often that she goes to Mike for help. They aren’t enemies anymore—as if they ever were—but they definitely aren’t besties. Mike can’t hate her, not after seeing her help Will through panic attacks so many times. But they haven’t had a true heart to heart, yet. 

(Each of the party have their own strengths and weaknesses when it comes to school. Dustin is a freaking genius when it comes to physics and theoretical stuff, but he has trouble when things don’t have patterns. Lucas is bad with explanations, but good with examples. Will can come up with a creative solution faster than using a more common idea. 

Which means that Dustin, Lucas, and Will are all amazing at math, but terrible at explaining how math works. 

They only person who seems to get him is Max. 

Mike and Max don’t talk often. It’s not because they hate each other (“that’s so ‘84”, to quote the girl herself), but because they barely have any classes together. 

They’re both advanced in their own right; Mike was in AP Bio—a previously senior only class—by Sophomore year, and Max was in Calculus by her  _ freshman _ . But because of their advancements in their respective talents, they tended to fall into the norm or below that for the rest. Mike, unfortunately, fell a bit below average when it came to math. Fortunately, Max is a bit below average when it comes to science, so they come to an agreement;

Help each other study for the shit they’re bad at, and don’t make each other seem stupid. 

“ _ When I get murdered do  _ not _ blame Russians, blame Algebra. _ ”

Max doesn’t even flinch from her perch from his bed. “When _ you get murdered? _ ” She asks.

Mike rolls off the bed with a groan, face up to his bedroom’s popcorn ceiling. 

“ _ Don’t be dramatic, Mikey _ .”

Mike sneers at her, though it’s more to provide a reaction than anything. They haven’t actually argued in years, mostly just bickered and sneered like they hate each other. No one in the group actually thinks they dislike each other, but a good portion of the school—at least of the ones who knew their names—think they have a rivalry. Max and Mike are happy to provide kindle to the fire. 

It just means that teachers like to pair them up for projects.

They rest in silence for awhile, the sound of pencils scratching against paper and the studio laughter from the TV downstairs giving them soft background noise. Mike flips over and drags a book down to the floor. He tries to focus on his Pre-Calc homework, but his train of thought keeps derailing every time Max spares him a glance. 

Which seems to be every ten seconds, apparently. 

After an eternity of looks, Mike finally slams down the book and looks back at Max. She has the gall to look surprised. 

“ _ What is it? _ ”

Max blinks, startled. “ _ I don’t know what you’re talking about _ .” She shrugs nonchalantly, head shaking. 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Mike admonishes. “ _Why are you staring?”_

“ _ Who says I’m staring? This may come as a shock, but you’re pretty hard on the eyes, Michael. _ ”

“Max _.” _

“ _ Ugh _ , fine.” Max snaps, slamming down her copy of  _ The Scarlet Letter _ with all the force it deserves. “ _ It’s that _ .”

Max points to Mike's face, more specifically his cheek. Mike frowns, confused. “ _ It’s  _ what?”

Max’s frown sours. “That _! It’s —Your cheek, okay?” _

Mike grabs his cheek instinctively. “ _ What about it? _ ”

Max won’t meet his eyes. “ _ Just—Just check the mirror, okay?” _

Mike nods, hesitant, before getting up and leaving the room. He doesn’t even need to open the door, since his mom is still convinced that Max and him will hook tongues the second they’re alone and inside four walls. 

Luckily, Holly’s having a playdate with one of the neighbors, because Mike knows she hates knocking and would not like to explain why he’s studying his face like he’s never seen it before to his nosy seven-year old sister. 

He finally figures it out after a long moment of cataloguing whether any of his freckles could be cancer; the bruise. 

Well, it isn’t really a  _ bruise _ . It’s ore of a discoloration at best. Mike likes to help out with the lights and sound for the auditorium during performances and stuff. Mr Clark was happy to teach him. Unfortunately, Mr Clack didn’t factor in Mike’s innate clumsiness. 

“ _ I tripped over one of the mics I was setting up for the choir and fell off the stage. Landed on a backpack and the corner of a chair, _ ” Mike says as he walks back into his room, pointing to the bruising on his chin and neck. “ _ That’s where I got this. I’m not being bullied or anything, I swear.” _

Mike is completely ready to let this go, move on to his homework and forget about it. He’s fully expecting for Max to forget about it, aside from some teasing about the fact he  _ fell off the stage _ . 

He’s not expecting a scoff and, “ _ Like I haven’t heard that excuse before. _ ”

Mike blinks. “ _ Excuse for what? _ ”

“ _ Your bruise!” _

“ _ It’s not an excuse. You know I’m fully capable of falling off a stage, Max. Though, I’m not sure if I should be insulted that you don’t believe me. _ ”

Max raises her eyebrows. “ _ You really just fell off the stage? It’s truly your fault? _ ” Mike can’t remember the last time her incredulous tone was so serious. 

“ _ Uh, yeah? I think some of the blame should go to the mic, but I did place it there— _ “

“ _ Oh _ .” 

Mike trails off, staring at Max expectantly. 

Max turns back to her work. Her finger is twitching madly and Mike swears he can see her blushing. Which means that he either miraculously became Lucas, or Max just fucked up and is embarrassed about it. 

If Mike were a better person he would leave Max to her embarrassment, but it’s  _ Max.  _

Mike kicks over her book, sitting in front of her. “ _ Okay _ ,” he starts, “ _ what the fuck is going on with you? _ ”

“ _ Shut up, Mike. _ ” 

“ _ I haven’t seen you blush like that since Lucas fake-proposed when he had a concussion. _ ” That was a funny day. Lucas had tried out for the football team, who apparently all agreed to tackle him as he was getting ready. It was a dick move and most of them got detention for it, but it led to the party discovering just how red Max’s face can get. 

Max frowns, her breath slightly short. Mike backs up a bit.

“ _ Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’ll listen. Okay? _ ”

Max glances at Mike’s chin, tracing the bruise with her eyes. She whispered so quietly that Mike has to strain to hear her, “ _ I thought your parents… _ ”

Oh. 

“ _ Oh _ .”

Max shrugs, “ _ Yeah,  _ oh.”

The two sit in silence. Mike curses himself. “ _ Is that because your parents _ ,”

“ _ Yeah _ .”

Oh.

“ _ Oh _ .” 

Max takes a rattled breath, finally meeting Mike’s eyes. “ _ They, they don’t do it anymore. Not since Billy. _ ”

Oh.

Mike glances at the door, listening keenly to the sound of the TV downstairs and his mother's footsteps. His mom is making dinner, and by the sounds of cartoons his dad is asleep. Mike gets up carefully, walking to the door and slowly closing it, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he turns around Max looks relieved, and Mike wonders what she thought he was going to do. 

Mike walks back to the bed. “ _ Scoot over,” _ he whispers. He lays down as soon as the space is clear, waits for Max to do the same before he starts speaking. 

“ _ My, my parents don’t hit me, but I think if they cared enough to hate me they would. _ ” Mike confesses, his voice no more than a whisper. “ _ Well, not my mom. I think she cares, but she just doesn’t know how to say it sometimes. _ ”

Mike laughs to himself.

“ _ Honestly _ ,  _ I don’t think my dad could pick me out of a line up _ .”

Max laughs, turning so her left arm in resting on Mike’s right shoulder, her chin resting on the crook of her bent elbow. “ _ I don’t think my dad could either. He’s still living in California, but I haven’t seen him since I was, like, twelve.” _

_ “Why?” _

Max huffs, glaring at Mike’s left shoulder. “ _ My mom doesn’t want me to see him. I think she thought if she kept me away from him, I would be more connected to Billy and Neil. Instead she just made me hate them. _ ”

Mike smiles slightly at the mention of her brother. He knows he talks to El sometimes, in their weird way of communicating. “ _ How is Billy doing?” _

Max smiles, “ _ He got a job at some resort in Palma Alto. He seems really happy, and I think he met someone _ .” Max looks excited, and Mike can’t help but meet her excitement. 

_ “I hope she treats him right.” _

_ “Actually, I think it’s a guy.” _

Mike blinks at Max, shocked. “ _ Oh, uh. Sorry.” _

“ _ Don’t apologize, dude. Indiana conservatives and all that.” _

“ _ No _ ,  _ I just thought—“ _

“ _ I did too,”  _ Max reassures, “ _ I guess once he got away from Neil he could finally be himself.” _

Mike nods. Even though he’s a bit terrified of Billy, Mike’s happy that he got away from this mess. He tells Max as much. Max nods, a far away look in her eye. 

“ _ It’s weird without him here. Neil is always angry and my mom is always scared. I’m not saying he should come back, because fuck that, but now Neil has nothing to take his anger out on.” _

Mike glances down, concern creasing his features. “ _ Does he hurt your mom at all?” _

Max purses her lips, “ _ Not physically. He yells at her a lot, calls her names and makes her think things that aren’t true. He tries to do it to me too, but I’m not home enough for him to target me.” _

The two sit in silence, listening to Karen try to unsuccessfully wake Ted up for lunch. She calls up to them, but neither move to get up. 

“ _ Parents suck.”  _ Mike mutters, ignoring the way his voice cracks. 

Max nods into his shoulder, “ _ Yeah, they do.” _

Mike takes a few breaths. When Will was younger and his father lived with him, the same thing used to happen. Mike was young at the time, too young to understand that some parents aren’t built to love. He has a chance to do something now, though, doesn’t he. 

“ _ Hey, Max?” _ He asks. Max hums into her elbow. “ _ The extra key for the basement door is hidden under the rock that says ‘Nancy’.” _

He can feel Max looking at him. There’s this long, long silence, where it seems like everything it suddenly much lighter than it was. Max shifts onto her other arm, her other resting on Mike’s stomach. “ _ You know there’s this shed beside my house. It’s in perfect view of my window, so I keep sleepover stuff in it just in case.” _ Max whispers. 

Mike nods. His heart feels very, very full. He can feel Max’s hand intertwine with his own, and he knows this means something. He can almost feel the world shifting, and he wants to shout to the sky how amazing he feels. 

He doesn’t. Instead he sits in his bed with Max Mayfield and wishes on the glowing stars stuck to his ceiling. Wishes that this feeling will never go away.)

The thing about time is that it tends to move faster than you want it to, and slower than you think it does. It hurts Mike when he thinks about all he could lose, all that he’s already lost. He can’t think too hard, though. Can’t focus on all the deaths his witnessed, all the things he wishes he could unsee. 

He gets a watch for Christmas. It’s signed ‘from us’, which Mike thinks is just so he doesn’t have to explain to his parents why he wants to open the gift in private. It’s silver and simple, but whenever he looks at it he thinks of his friends. 

Whenever he thinks too hard, or when time gets too fast or too slow, or when he can’t tell the difference between dreams or reality, or just when he wants to know what time it is, he knows he can look at it. 

And when he’s fighting Russian monsters while screaming Will’s name, he knows his friends will be right there beside him, just as the watch will still be on his wrist. 

Even if life is weird, and time is fucked, Mike still rests easy knowing he his friends are with him every step of the way. 


End file.
